


as my world divides

by impossiblesongs



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, my annoyance with Hook may show through in this sorrynotsorry, the Evil Queen has repressed fondness for Emma Swan pass it on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-03-29 01:12:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13916193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblesongs/pseuds/impossiblesongs
Summary: “There’s no mistaking that what Regina Mills loves the most, be it in any realm, is her son. What she wants however, well. That’s always been a bit more complicated.”– Regina successfully splits with her evil half. The only thing she didn’t count on was the Evil Queen surviving and enacting her revenge, taking captive the one thing Regina’s heart secretly wants most: one Miss Swan. (SwanQueen AU diverging somewhat entirely from S6)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** Not my characters. This has been a disclaimer. 
> 
> **AN:** Hello, this marks my first contribution to the Swan Queen fandom. Title  & lyrics are from the Evanescence song (& the inspiration behind this whole thing btw): ‘Snow White Queen’. I also wanted to explore my own take on the Evil Queen as I’m not too keen on the road they took on the show. Basically it all kicks off after "An Untold Story" & doesn't steer quite in the same direction S6 has led us. Some things stay the same, storyline-wise, with Gold and stuff but I'm not sticking completely to canon here. It's touch and go, wish me luck.
> 
> Read/review? Thanks.

 

 

 

_You belong to me_

_My snow white queen_

_There's nowhere to run_

_So let's just get it over_

_Soon my love, you'll see_

_You're just like me_

_Don't scream anymore, my love_

_'Cause all I want is you_

 

⋆ ⋅ ⋄ ♛ ♡ ♕ ♥ ⋄ ⋅ ⋆

 

 

There’s no mistaking that what Regina Mills loves the most, be it in any realm, is her son. What she _wants_ however, well. That’s always been a bit more complicated. It’s nuanced always by experience, circumstance, and timing. Sometimes the things you want, you aren’t meant to have. They’re never yours in the first place, but the _wanting_. It’s the sort of thing that chokes the life out of you the closer you get to it with no resolution in sight.

 

She’s grown to learn about and not simply tolerate Emma Swan throughout the years, she’s even come to appreciate the woman. Gotten to know her, entirely and resolutely, and in a miraculous fashion to be known in return just the same. She’s frankly never come across something akin to an equal before in her life and yet here they are.

 

She’s come to see fragments of Emma in Henry, bountifully reflected, bright and strong and _good_ , and maybe that’s the first moment of many that Emma Swan has managed to chip away a spot in the ruined remains of Regina’s blackened, damaged heart. Maybe it can all be simply summed up with the fact that the only love in her life that has ever been well and truly worth it, her dearest Henry, is directly because of one Miss Swan.

 

Still, there are feelings that have arisen that have no clear outlet and Regina has learned to live with them with a regal poise and refined manner of dignity – she is a _queen_ , after all. Years of wanting Emma and never quite having her…

 

It’s not something they talk about, not something that needs a voice really, but it’s known all the same. At least Regina thinks so. Surely Emma has to know.

 

Emma must also know that Regina won’t rest until the woman is back where she belongs, here, right at their side. Safely back in Storybrooke with the family and son and… and Regina herself, all who desperately love her and need her.

 

So this is Regina’s vow: even if she has to break several realms to find her, even if she has to engage with the darkest magic to accomplish it, she will defeat her Evil Half once and for all. Wherever the Evil Queen has taken her, Regina will find and save Emma Swan. She _will_ bring her home.

 

 

⋆ ⋅ ⋄ ♛ ♡ ♕ ♥ ⋄ ⋅ ⋆

 

 

…  _on the roof, the night it all began…_

 

The pull, when it beckons at first, it hurts. My, does it hurt. For a second she thinks of Mother, grappling to become steel in the face of that particular enemy. But then the stinging, searing physical pain of it all…. Mother preferred to hurt her on the inside, for the most part.  

 

It’s not until she’s looking at Regina’s face, her own identical face, torn outside of herself, that she realizes this thing, this _spell_ , is ripping her _out_. Casting her aside, throwing her away, like she’s not the only source of true strength dwelling in this body; the shield Regina’s relentlessly used for her darkest of nightmares.  

 

There’s a spec of Snow and her offspring at the edge of her eye-line but all the Queen has eyes for, _seethes_ for, is Regina.

 

“Look at what you’ve become,” the Queen’s red lips sneer.

 

Regina’s eyes are wide looking upon her, genuinely fearful, as if she were one of Regina’s various abusers. Regina stands before her but a trembling girl in the face of the Queen’s immeasurable power; the very one the Queen has housed, protected, and adored. The girl whose heart was butchered by Mother that night in the stables so very long ago now. The one who has just made it a goal to separate them forever.

 

Suddenly the Queen is driven with rage and wants nothing more than Regina’s heart as a pile of ash and she acts, reaches out with a snarl, murderous with intent – white magic stops her, traps her. Immobile.

 

The Savior.

 

_Still having other people come to your rescue, are we?_

“Regina, now’s your chance.” The Savior instigates. “Destroy her!”

 

Regina is a crumbling mess without her true protector and the Queen chuckles at the weakness in front of her. “You? Destroy me? You don’t have what it takes.”

 

And Regina does waver, tears filling those tender dark eyes. The Queen would wipe those tears away, gentle as Mother never had been, had Regina not made the monumental mistake of trying to get rid of her. Regina’s about the only thing in the universe the Queen had ever taken the effort to be gentle with after all. So much for loyalty.

 

The Savior calls Regina’s name, soft and supplanting, and _how dare she?!_

 

“You’re weak,” the Queen declares, which somehow propels Regina to walk forward. Maybe she can’t help the separation either, and the Queen aches at the possibility, for _Regina_ – to be _one_. “Not matter what you do, you can’t destroy _our_ darkness,” the Queen promises, maybe it’s even a warning. Regina can’t survive it alone. Not without her. “Deep down inside, you know the truth.” Regina’s face, so close now, closer and closer and closer. A face the Queen has grown with and nurtured and pledged to, helped, no matter the cost. A face she’d have willingly died for. Killed for. “You need me,” _as I you._

 

Oh, such weakness! That’s all Regina’s sentiment, the Queen knows well enough. It lingers still, like weeds burrowing deep below the surface.

 

“No,” Regina rejects flatly. Shoulders squared, chin raised. “I don’t.”

 

And then, quite horridly, turning further away from her than she ever thought Regina possible, Regina reaches inside the Queen’s chest and rips her heart out.

 

Regina, the girlchild the Queen has dedicated her life to, offers an apology before crushing the heart held in her hand.

 

Then the cold. Then the dark. The black and beautiful and terrible dark.

 

 

⋄

 

 

The Queen finds the Dragon right where Regina had left him. He doesn’t seem to expect her, but neither is he surprised.

 

“The Evil Queen,” the Dragon acknowledges, “what are you doing here?”

 

“Regina never should have crushed my heart,” the Queen states neutrally, smiling wickedly as the man before her tries so very hard not to cower and fails. “You were right about the battle raging inside Regina, but that’s what Regina is: a battle. I’m the war.”

 

“What do you want?”

 

The Queen’s arm reaches out rapidly and grabs at the Dragon’s heart, pulling it easily from inside his chest. The man falls onto his knees, gaping, and the Queen smiles, sinister, her eyes positively gleaming, swelling with the air of victory now that she’s got her sights set on it.

 

“Regina’s had her turn,” the Queen tightens her hold on the beating heart held in her palm, “Now it’s time for _my_ revenge.”

 

“You will never win!” the Dragon gasps again, hand searching uselessly at his chest in a frenzy.

 

“Who said anything about winning?” snarls the Queen as she leans down to catch his eyesight, her fingers curling tighter around his heart in punishment for speaking out of turn. “This, oh this,” she chuckles grandly, for the plans she intends to carry out. For this is not the end, it’s rather just the beginning. “It will rip Regina’s heart out,” the Queen states, face gone slack and somber with the too cruel reality that has become of her. She glances at the heart in her hand and crushes it without a sweat, “Just as she ripped out mine.”

 

 

⋆ ⋅ ⋄ ♛ ♡ ♕ ♥ ⋄ ⋅ ⋆

 

 

_… onward…_

 

It’s late. Henry’s already fast asleep in his bedroom while Regina is holed up in her study catching up with some work that ideally could be put off for tomorrow morning, however she’s antsy tonight and knows from experience that work will always steady an unruly state.

 

She’s reading through the latest pages of anonymous government complaints with a cool reserve when she’s alerted by several frenzied knocks coming from the front door. Regina moves quickly, not wanting the ruckus to wake up Henry, marching up to front door, her lips in a firm line the closer she gets. Throwing it open, a scathing retort at the ready for whomever has so rudely inconvenienced her at this hour…

 

She finds Emma Swan under her front porch. The anger seeps from her veins almost immediately and is replaced with warm welcomed surprise.

 

“Hello,” Emma grunts, pushing her way inside Regina’s home before Regina’s even invited her in.

 

Shutting the door and peering at Emma through furrowed brows, Regina finds the blonde positively fuming. “Well, hello to you too,” Regina mutters, crossing her arms over her chest.

 

Emma winces. “Sorry, Hook and I had a fight,” she explains. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

 

Hook and Emma had a lot of fights, which isn’t for Regina to judge, but they do. He always seems to set Emma off with one thing or another. “I’m sorry to hear that,” says Regina. “And you know you’re always welcome here.”

 

Emma smiles gratefully and Regina tips her head towards her study. “I was just finishing up some work,” Regina informs, to which Emma interprets as having interrupted something, so she hurries to add, “but I’m sure that can wait. You look like you could use a drink right about now.”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Emma exhales, nervous hands automatically resting at her hips, her expression opening gratefully at the offer.

 

Regina finds the sight helplessly endearing. In fact, everything that Emma’s done since New York has been tugging at Regina’s heartstrings. “Come on. I’m sure I have something stronger than I should hiding around this place,” Regina proffers, hardly needing to beckon for Emma to follow after her.

 

 

⋄

 

 

“After everything that’s happened, all we’ve been through, all the time it took to get here… I thought it would be different,” Emma confesses after two glasses polished. Either she’s an easy drunk or just a blabbermouth. Regina knows which she’s decided upon.

 

They’ve relocated to the living room, parking themselves down on the carpeted floor. The room is currently lit by two lamps on opposing sides of the room, keeping the atmosphere dark enough to be considered cozy. A bottle of expensive red wine sitting half-finished on Regina’s coffee table. It was, pathetically, all Regina could find, much to her embarrassment. She’d initially promised Emma something stronger. But Emma, of course, hailed the bottle as something sacred and chugged it down the second Regina had uncorked it, Emma’s fingertips fleeting against hers when Emma pulled it from her grasp. Regina had turned her face before the crimson on her cheeks could be called out on. It’s a nervous bubbling feeling, now that she thinks on it. Inconsequential yet there. Emma and her in a nutshell.

 

Regina swallowed thickly, her thoughts turning back to the present. Emma appeared to be weary beyond imagining and it wasn’t just the alcohol, nor tiredness. She did not like the sight in front of her one bit. They had been through a lot these past months, it’s true. Emma, losing Hook, going to the Underworld to save him. Regina, following her, and then losing Robin. It made expelling the Queen seem to have happened worlds away. Responsibilities, obligations and then some. Regina wonders if they’ll ever get a break? Some respite?

 

She realizes the silence in the air means that she hasn’t said a word in edgewise in address to Emma’s predicament and it’s not like the woman in front of her would share her troubles in search for an answer, Emma knows life isn’t that simple and she prefers to deal with things on her own terms, but Regina is determined to give her one anyway; a lifeline if you will. Maybe Emma will even get something useful out of it. The true unfortunate of the hour seems to be that Emma is not basking in her happy ending but rather finding more hindrances within it. If Regina’s honest it doesn’t completely surprise her. It’s a life she knows and my, oh my, does she know it well. She’s struggled with it all her life. Finding a happy ending. Just because you find it doesn’t mean it’s yours to keep – Regina knows that better than anybody. To see Emma now, here, appearing to struggle down this path, the dissatisfaction that maybe happy endings are not all they’re cracked up to be? For this to be plaguing even the _Savior_ , it’s just unthinkable.

 

She clears her throat. “Well, I think things do tend to change a lot with time, that’s life generally,” Regina remarked. “People I’ve come to find are of another issue entirely. People don’t change.”

 

“You changed,” Emma pointed out, the utter conviction to the statement making her cheeks color automatically. She looked away, a tell that Regina knew to mean she hadn’t meant to say that out loud or quite with so much feeling.

 

Regina shrugged, playing it off casually. “I’m perhaps not the best example to tie your arguments to.” The smile she gives Emma is warm and there’s a sly quirk of her brow, also: a reminder, “For _various_ reasons.”

 

Emma straightens her back and shakes her head adamantly, leaning forward as if to make a point, “No, but you are.” Her palm seeks out and rests on top of Regina’s wrist, gently grasping her fingertips around. “You’re the example personified. You’re strong and courageous and you… you’re the best person I know.”

 

Now it’s Regina’s turn to blush. She glances down at Emma’s hand caressing her skin, warm and secure, not a hint of awkwardness within the touch. There’s only trust and familiarity there, of kinship. Emma’s eyes remain bright and steady when Regina meets them again, if a bit glassy. The alcohol was doing its job alright.

 

“I can safely say that the feeling is mutual, Miss Swan.”

 

Emma grimaces at the old nickname. She sighs before removing her hand, leaving the flesh it had just covered to go tingly and cold with its absence. Regina shivers at the loss.  

 

“I just need to get away for a few days, you know? Not to run,” Emma assures Regina, maintaining that before it could be misinterpreted. “I’m not that person anymore, I swear. Not now that I’ve got Henry here, and… and you. You’re my best friend, Gina.” Regina grows warm with that declaration. “Just to, you know, let whatever’s happened with Hook and me to pass and calm down. There’s too many emotions clouding our judgement right now and it’s getting ridiculous. How can I protect the town when I’m busy bickering over the metaphorical subject of rings and why I’d not wear one if he’d give me one? _Stupid_! So stupid. And irrelevant, as it’s not even a real thing!” Another sigh from the Savior’s lips. “Anyway, I’m sure everything will work out with time, like you said.”

 

Regina hasn’t the heart to contradict that simply because that’s not really what she said let alone meant, not when Emma is finally seeming to talk about what’s happened with less melancholy nonsense and more realistic resolve.

 

“It will, won’t it?” Emma says.

 

Regina looks over to Emma and finds the woman peering up at her with those big doe eyes, looking so much like a child in need of reassurance. Regina finds herself heartily touched by the confidence Emma Swan has placed in her and smiles fondly. “As you say, dear,” she assures.

 

Emma grins up at her and it’s like looking into the sun, glorious and safe and much too dangerous to withstand. Regina finds her heart can hardly bear it. She stands abruptly, causing Emma’s smile to falter.

 

“I forgot,” Regina excuses, “I still have work tomorrow.”

 

“Oh, crap.” Emma says, her face gone slightly comical with guilt. “I forgot that too. We can call in sick? You up for a holiday curse maybe?”

 

“You’re so ridiculous sometimes,” Regina chuckles softly, unable to help it. Emma visibly relaxes at the sound of it; pleased. “Listen, I’m going to head on up. You can take the guest bed when you’re ready. I’ll see you in the morning?”

 

“Yeah,” Emma agrees yet stays put, reaching for the bottle of wine without an ounce of shame. “I’m gonna go ahead and have one more glass of this before turning in though.” She shrugs her shoulders, “Might as well.”

 

“Incorrigible,” Regina names her before turning around and beginning to head for the doorway.

 

“And hey,” Emma calls out, “Thanks again, Regina. Really.”

 

Regina takes one final glance at Emma Swan who sits so at home on her living room floor, movements gone a bit clumsy from the alcohol they’d both shared, and grins beatifically. “Anytime,” and then – she’ll blame the alcohol for this, if it ever comes to light – she whispers, hushed, more to herself than the woman also occupying the room: “My Emma.”

 

 

⋄

 

 

The following morning, Regina doesn’t find Emma passed out in the guest room or even sprawled across the couch. It’s odd and disappointing but Regina figures Emma has simply made good on her words, turning them into actions. Maybe she had made it a point to actually take a few days away somewhere for her sanity. God knows Regina would if she had to deal with the pirate on a hour to hour basis. She believes it to be a possibility and thus carries on with her normal routine. She showers, gets dressed, makes breakfast, and then goes on about the task of waking Henry.

 

Then she finds the crown.

 

It’s placed, waiting, on the center of her desk in her study. It’s the very one Leopold had sat atop her head on the day of their wedding when he had declared her his wife and queen.

 

That crown had been locked away in her vault, not one person in Storybrooke even knew she still possessed of it.

 

And then it comes, like a whisper of dread that echoes from the hollow places that reside inside of her; there’s only one other person who would know. One person whom Regina effectively thought she’d put an end to.

 

She doesn’t realize she’s screaming until Henry is at her side, eyes alarmed and voice calm, asking her what is wrong. 

 

Shaken with the sliver of likelihood and the physical tie to her past that the crown represents, she clutches at the headpiece with her heart in her throat and informs Henry that’s he’s being dropped off at the Charming’s, making him promise not to say a word to them about any of this.

 

Regina expects more of a fight only she doesn’t get it. Henry only nods his head and gathers his things. She expects she must make for a maddening sight because his curiosity can only be outweighed by his concern.

 

It’s in her vault where she finds the confirmation she’s dreaded.

 

She’s gone to her knees at the sight of it: the Hat, the Queen, and Emma.

 

“Did you really think I’d be that easy to kill?” the Queen smiles ravenously, eyes depthless gleaming dark pools.

 

“Let her go!” Regina cries, her hands raised in a placating gesture. The Queen snorts in derision at the sight.

 

“Oh, I think not!” the Queen proclaims, tugging at the chains bounding Emma’s wrists until Emma falls to her knees. “Do you recognize these? They’re the very same she saddled me with when you ripped my heart out, the only difference is I’ve made accommodations.” A perfect brow lifts, red lips twisted and mocking. The Queen grabs at one of Emma’s wrists viciously, “Enchanted cuffs for the Savior. You should have thought of that years ago,” she cackles deliciously, _“I_ did.”

 

“Please,” begs Regina, heart in her throat. “Whatever you want, I-”

 

“ _You’re_ getting exactly what you want!” The Queen declares. “I’m going to disappear. You’ll never have to see me again.” The Queen pauses for dramatic effect, her heels clicking against the vault floor while she paces a short distance. “Of course, neither will you see _your_ Emma again,” she grins, “She’s _mine_ now.”

 

“No,” Regina says, horrified.

 

“And if you try to find us, if you even attempt to use magic to come near us, I’ll kill her,” the Queen promises.  

 

“ _No_!” Regina growls, hands curling into fists and raising to her feet.

 

“Oh, do take care with your tone, dear.” the Queen offers her grandiose warning, “It’s not like this is the first time I’ve killed the thing that you love most.”

 

With a twist of her wrist, the Hat engages. Regina watches in horror as the Queen and Emma fall inside. The second she reaches out for it, the Hat disappears, Emma’s voice calling out her name the only echo in the room.


	2. Chapter 2

Emma has been missing for four days.

 

The first three of those four days – to which only Snow, David, Regina and Henry were privy to – Regina had convinced them to keep quiet about. With Hyde on the prowl, the town hardly needed any more reason to panic. No Savior in the equation? Queue panicking. And leaving Killian out of it seemed practical. At least Regina had argued for it, considering Emma’s stance the last time she had spoken with her about how the pirate was too emotional to think straight. Regina hadn’t given Snow and David the details of the falling out between the couple, as it really wasn’t anyone’s business, however she held firmly that until they knew more on where to go from here it was best to keep Hook out of the loop.

 

“So we just lie to him?” Snow had replied, her face twisting up with displeasure at the mere thought. “If it were me-”

 

“But it’s not you,” Regina had cut in, “this is about Emma! We need to keep our heads clear and figure out what we are going to do first. He’d want to go charging in, guns blazing. You know that as well as I do. We can’t have him just having a go at the Evil Queen! He has before, yes, but the difference is I was in there with her. I’m not in there anymore.”

 

The reality of the statement chilled all three of them into silence.

 

“We’ll have to tell him eventually,” said David uncomfortably.

 

“Of course,” Regina acquiesced, an air of sensibility about her that was all for show unfortunately. “But for now,” she pleaded, “just not _now_.”

 

The Charming’s eventually relented.   

 

And so here they were, gathered inside her vault on the fourth day, dealing with Hyde’s goons by day and trying to find a way to track the Queen down by night. The residual energy must lead somewhere; it just had to!

 

 

⋄

 

 

“Where in the devil is she?!”

 

Regina had expected his presence sooner or later, once word got around to him. It was a week to the day since Emma had been taken. She throws Snow a knowing look and the woman shrugs, unrepentant. As if she’s a helpless part in it all doing good for goodness’ sake. “He needed to know,” Snow offers in an utterance, once Regina is close enough. Typical.

 

“Killian, we need to stay calm,” David says, placating, only the pirate shrugs him off, veering right for Regina.

 

“You, _you_ did this! You and your nefarious other half!” the pirate accuses, swaying his hook in Regina’s face. “Couldn’t help yourself so you’ve damned us all, most of all Emma!”

 

Snow chooses this as an appropriate time to intervene, taking hold softly at Killian’s elbow and getting him to back off. Perhaps the woman has become somewhat well versed with the sight of Regina resisting the urge to strangle someone with her bare hands. Of course, Regina’s hands are in fact shaking because she’s this close to crumbling in on herself and being swallowed by guilt Hook has brandished upon her, but the Charmings and the hooked idiot don’t need to know that.

 

Only when Killian is at the other end of the room, allowing Snow to manhandle him into sitting down and conversing with him quietly does Regina unclench her fists. She catches David’s eye and he nods at her, the quiet confidence being offered there is not lost on her. Regina nods back at him, a promise transferred with the action. _I will find your daughter. I will bring her home._

 

For once she’s glad she’d listened to Snow when she suggested Henry spend the day at the diner. He hadn’t wanted to but Regina had asked him to do. _For me. Just this once._ He’d folded quite easily at that.

 

“He didn’t mean it,” Snow is back at her side like she never left, meek and remorseful at Hook’s outburst. Honestly, what did she think would happen? He’d be a helpful contribution to the team? Ridiculous. “He’s just worried.”

 

“We all are,” Regina points out sharply, relenting the second she sees Snow wince.

 

Regina takes a deep breath and let’s go of her defensiveness. It’s something she has been forgetful of many a time, that they are on each other’s side now and how that should be making some semblance of difference. However, this is somewhat different. Much as she hates any allusions to the pirate, Regina feels very much cast out to sea and without an anchor. Now, she’ll never bow down to the pirate’s rage, but this _is_ her fault. She knows that. It’s what prompts Regina to confession, because initially she works better when she’s gotten the negatives out of the equation. Usually this confession would be going to someone that she trusts. That someone would be Emma but Emma isn’t here, so Snow will have to do. Regina stares at the woman in well learned contemplation before just sucking it up and getting on with it. It’s not like they have all day. She also makes sure to keep her voice low so it won’t carry.

 

“I’ve tried everything,” she very nearly mumbles, Snow’s quick though. She catches it anyway. Regina gestures to the altar behind them, teemed with magical artifacts and various potions, all tried and failed.

 

“You’ll think of something,” says Snow, so absolute in her faith that the woman is almost gleaming with insufferable assurance. Now. At the darkest of hours, while her daughter is gone, snatched up from them god knows where!

 

Someone unexpected clears their throat. “Perhaps I can be of some assistance.”

 

They each turn attention to find the presence of none other than Mr. Gold. He’s carrying a globe with him and Regina recognizes it immediately, practically pouncing at him with demand. “Where the hell did you get that?”

 

Mr. Gold huffs a bit, smirking in that Cheshire cat way that he does. “I’d say you know exactly where, dearie.”

 

The mere insinuation of Mother silences her.

 

“Will this help us find Emma?” David has neared, Hook right behind him.

 

“Indeed, I believe it shall,” Mr. Gold announces.

 

“Wait a minute,” Regina knows better. “Why are you helping us? What’s in it for you?”

 

Mr. Gold quirks a brow, seemingly pleased at her cleverness. “Well you see, therein lies the transaction, only it’s not for you to pay. It’s mine.”

 

“What does that mean?” Snow inquires, never one not to needle for information.

 

Gold holds the magic globe out to Regina and waits until she takes it in her possession before further answering. “Let’s just say I have a very persistent grandson who has reminded me of debts I owe to the dead.”

 

“Henry,” Regina gasps. “He was supposed to stay at the diner!”

 

“Good lad,” Hook comments, to which Regina scowls.

 

“I do hope you find your daughter,” Gold addresses to David and Snow before turning and making his way out.

 

“What exactly did Henry say?” David calls out, shrugging when Gold glances back at him. “Just for future reference.”

 

For a second there Gold looks like he won’t answer but to everyone’s surprise, he does. “To quote the boy, he said, ‘My father would never forgive you if you did nothing while Emma was lost.’” Gold further shared, “Henry’s his father’s son. For a moment it was as if Bae was standing right in front of me again, urging me to do the right thing.”

 

Regina glances down at the globe in her arms and for the first time since Emma’s abduction she feels the telltale airs of hope curl up inside her heart.

 

 

⋄

 

 

The blonde locks framing the Savior’s cheekbone make her skin look the shade of alabaster. In all fairness, everything looks a shade paler in this light. Flurries sporadically fall inside through the window that outlooks to the middle of nowhere. Though the room has been protected by magic against the chilling climate outside, so a least she won’t accidentally freeze to death (she assume she’d be useless for execution if that were to happen) Emma has been chained to a wall in this reasonably tall tower for days. At least she thinks it’s been days. The Queen visits her often, at various hours and never in a way Emma can call expected, and because of this lack of routine she cannot be certain of time. She doesn’t even know how it works here or if it works.

 

The outside view doesn’t change though. Perilous snow, vast stretches of white nothingness that exist for miles; there is silence when the Queen isn’t there.

 

Emma has been in a situation like this before. Chained in a tower, powerless, virtually written out of the story for a villainous heroic ending or something, but this is different. This is the Evil Queen without a shred of Regina inside her. This is Emma Swan, cut off from her magic, a true damsel in distress. She knows nothing of this role or how to play it nor is she going to be forced to take it. This isn’t her story.

 

“Tell me something, Savior,” the Queen’s voice echoes around the tower on this day, her heels clicking against the stone flooring in clanks. Soon, she reaches where she wants to be, a good ten feet away from Emma. A chair puffs into existence underneath her and the Queen sinks into it gracefully.

 

Emma’s eyes flit from the woman sharing Regina’s face and back to the bluish-grey stone floor disinterestedly. She waits for the rest of the command, determined to be somewhat mulish in her options to either answer with bite or engage in rebellious impertinence (silence). It’s a game really. Her only play. Emma’s found the frustration of talking _at_ her rather than _to_ her will make the Queen take leave of her presence quicker. It’s a win-win either way.

 

“What did you think was happening,” the Queen asked finally, “that night I stole you away?”

 

Emma shuts her eyes and purses her lips. The Queen is referring to the way she’d tricked her and how Emma had so willingly let it happen.

 

The night she’d gone to Regina’s, after the fight with Hook, they’d sat and drank and talked. It was warm and comforting and routine. It’s become so easy to be there in that space and be present, to just fucking _breathe_. Regina came with no expectations, no conditions or ultimatums. She was safe, in every sense of the word.

 

As it got later, eventually Regina had excused herself for bed once it was clear that the night had gotten away from them both. While Emma had chosen to keep drinking, passing out on the couch in the early hours of morning, she’d been awoken by a soft touch to the side of her neck. A caress of sorts. Gentle fingers pressing and exploring, reaching upward then to cup at her jaw, trailing across her bottom lip. Again, it felt safe.

 

Upon opening her eyes Emma was met with a familiar pair of deep browns. She’d smiled at the sight of them; Regina’s eyes. So soft and mesmerizing. _Safe_.

 

Those pair of hands were then clutching around her wrists, tightening hold, and Emma glanced down. There, around her wrists, were a pair of bright white Enchanted Cuffs. She’d looked up into Regina’s face in question and found only a ruthless smirk awaiting her. A cold, calculating smirk – one Regina hadn’t been capable of in a long, long time.

 

In a puff of purple smoke they had been relocated to Regina’s vault. Towering over her, there stood The Evil Queen in a ridiculously decorative purple gown, and Emma, sprawled at her feet, magically powerless to combat her. It had really pissed her off, not catching on sooner. But the touches had been soft at first, awestruck. The damn definition of safe.

 

“Oh, come now,” the Queen pestered her, as if Emma were acting a petulant child, “you willingly choose to be in a relationship that cages you up with that imbecilic pirate. Why should a little imprisonment in a tower suddenly make me the worst person in your life?”

 

“You are the worst person, period.” Emma responded.

 

The Queen’s grin widened, sharp and cruel on such a face. She leaned forward, her voice even, “You’re absolutely right about that.”

 

The proclamation made Emma shudder, gone off kilter with how utterly soulless the woman sitting in front of her appeared to be.

 

“Did you think I was Regina?” the Queen returned to her former inquiry. She’d been trying to pry for a weak spot, trying for any amount of wiggle room that would help her crack Emma’s skull open just for kicks. Least that’s what Emma assumes. It can’t be that far off. “Do you think of her soft touches waking you often?”

 

Emma grits her teeth, glaring.

 

The Queen sits back in her chair and laughs and laughs.

 

 

⋄

 

 

Regina instructs David and Snow meticulously on how the Magic Globe works its magic. The pricking of the finger… it takes them all back for a moment.

 

“I can do this, if you,” David offers to his wife considerately.

 

“No, no. I can do it.” Snow insists.

 

“I still think it should be me,” Hook argues, “I’m tied to Emma in ways no one else is. We’re twined.”

 

“Be that as it may,” Regina says, barely able to curb in her own annoyance with the pirate, “this is blood magic, to which you are sorely lacking.” With a pointed roll of her eyes Regina focuses back on Snow, urging her on, “In your own time.”

 

Snow approaches the globe, finger hovering over the pricking needle. She glances at Regina once, hesitating for a second before steeling her nerves. Her finger meets the needle and the blood pools like a dye beneath the magical object’s surface. The four adults near the globe, watching with rapt attention.

 

“There,” Hook points.

 

“That’s not in the Enchanted Forest,” Snow exclaims.

 

“That’s not possible!” says Regina.

 

“So it may be,” Hook replies scathingly, “and yet here we are, _your Majesty_.”

 

Regina flinches at the title.

 

“Hey,” Snow reprimands.

 

Hook backs off, scowling at Regina before walking out of the room. David follows after him.

 

“He did-” Snow begins to say.

 

“Didn’t what?” Regina interrupts. “Mean it? Really? I think we all know it’s my fault this happened, why not just own up to it?”

 

“No one thinks that, Regina,” Snow responds in a tone that brokers no arguments. “Everyone is having a hard time and some of us just want someone to blame, but this isn’t your fault. It’s _hers_.”

 

Regina looks upon Snow’s face, finding no trace of a lie in that righteous and long-decided gaze. It makes Regina feel so helpless and small that she wants to scream.

 

Snow may think there is one big line stretching between the two of them, Regina and the Queen, but she doesn’t know the half of it. There is no black and white rationalization here. Deep down Regina knows that. She feels it, daily. There are parts of her she’s become void of, parts of her that are lost, swept away and ungraspable. She’s empty, most days. A mere half of what was once whole. She thought she was doing the right thing, expelling her evil half, but she can’t help miss her – _need_ her. Can’t help feeling that she’s bleeding openly, inwardly, and no one can see the stains. The ruins.

 

No matter how the people around her claim she’s earned her forgiveness, they refuse to _see_ , instead preferring to bullheadedly believe what they will. The Queen isn’t just a part of Regina, she _is_ Regina. There is no greater horror, Regina thinks, than living with that – than needing the Queen, like a torn out phantom limb. To be grasping, and grasping, and grasping; to no avail.

 

If anyone could even begin understand, perhaps it’d be Emma. If anyone could forgive her instead of outright judge her…  

 

“We need to figure out where we go from here,” Snow says, gently.

 

Regina pulls herself together, of whatever is left from what has been torn, and wipes at the tears that have somehow escaped her eyes.

 

Where to go from here? Indeed.

 

It’s time to face the facts. She has to face them before anyone else can be hurt. The Evil Queen is a part of her, the half she wants to deny most and denial had never served anybody.

 

She had told Zelena once that true love is sacrifice, that it’s giving up everything for the person you love. If she had the chance to sacrifice for Daniel or for Robin she’d take that path in a heartbeat. Whatever category she and Emma fall under, acknowledged or not, it’s pure. Pure enough for just the kind of sacrifice she is leaning towards, true enough to save the Savior – of that she’s sure. She just has to be brave enough to take it. To face the Evil Queen.

 

“Yes,” Regina agrees, a resolve building in her. “And I have just the idea where to start.”

 

 

⋄

 

 

There is a table in the tower. The Queen has brought it along with a flick of her wrist. One second Emma is chained to the wall of the tower, the next she’s seated, chains secured around the chair she sits on.

 

Food appears atop the table, a plate full of rich meats and sweet bread making Emma’s mouth water. She’s only been given a plain porridge and water for the time she’s spent here.

 

“You can’t poison me,” Emma states flatly.

 

The Queen chuckles delightedly. “What would be the point of poisoning you? Regina’s not here to see it.”

 

Okay, point made. Emma still wants to reject the food, just to spite her. This occasion is obviously a tactic for manipulation of some kind. Embarrassingly, her stomach protests those intentions the more she considers them.

 

“Don’t let your food go cold, dear.” The Queen comments, starting in on her dish.

 

They eat in silence. Emma positively ravenous with the sweetness of having her taste buds be of use again. The meal is plentiful. It sits warm in her belly, wine bitter but rich. God, she misses Granny’s.

 

“You’d never get this kind of treatment on a pirate ship,” the Queen states conversationally. “This is a meal meant for a queen. I’ve dined like this many a time in my years. I bet the grandest thing that pirate could even think to offer you is his life willingly given for yours.” She quips around her goblet, “How pathetic.”

 

“You know what’s pathetic? The fact that you think a life isn’t worth saving or dying for.” Emma replies stiffly. “It’s something precious, something selfless! Something you know nothing about.”

 

The Queen positively preens at the notion of having hit a nerve. “A life is worth a life, always. That’s boring. Predictable. He may well die for you, but would he kill for you? Would he tear the world apart, scorch the ground he walks upon for the mere sight of you? How far would he even be willing to go? Is there a limit to his love? I bet there is.”

 

“The limit is there because right and wrong matter!” Emma can’t help the way her voice raises, her chains around her wrist rattling from the fury of wanting to do something, to fight. “Good and evil, the choices, they matter!”

 

The Queen cackles mockingly. “Love has no limits, Miss Swan,” she declares pityingly. “You either go all the way, or your love is purely conditional. What’s pathetic is that you don’t know that.” The Queen stands from the table, all grace and lithe limbs and curves. “And what’s even more pathetic is that you’ve roped Regina into having that simple mindset become her own.”

 

“Don’t you even talk about Regina,” warned Emma.

 

The Queen gave a wave of her hand and Emma was back in place, once again chained to the tower wall, the table of food gone from the room as if it had never existed.

 

The Queen walked forward, her intricate deep blue gown swishing at every step, until she stood right in front of Emma Swan. She cupped Emma’s chin roughly in hand, leaning in until her nose was just shy of touching Emma’s.

 

“Regina is mine,” the Queen declared in a whisper, soft breath fanning against Emma’s cheek. “If anyone has the right to make demands on her behalf, it’s me.”

 

Emma’s heart pounded loudly in her chest, her face feeling suddenly flushed. The Queen looked into Emma’s eyes, brilliant blue meeting deep brown. Emma can’t help but mistake them for Regina’s, nor can she halt the knee-jerk reaction that occurs, the tilt of her head slightly forward, forehead coming to rest against the Evil Queen’s.

 

For a second, just one, it’s almost like Regina is right in front of her. _Her_ Regina. Soft and comforting and probably the-best-person-Emma-has-ever-had-the-privilege-to-know _Regina_. Then the illusion is being broken, shattered like a cold mist upon her face, waking her with its unforgiving chill.

 

The Queen shoves Emma’s face away from her palm crudely, swirling around and stalking angrily from the room.

 

The weighted swell of affection Emma feels for Regina pins her where she stands, causing her to cry the first tears she’d allowed to fall since she’d been brought to this stupid tower.

 

Outside of the room, on the other side of the barricaded door, the Evil Queen tilts her head, frozen in place and deterred from taking a step further away.

 

The Savior cries and the Evil Queen finds herself incapable to do anything but listen.

 

 

⋄

 

 

The Queen bursts back into the room, not half an hour later, shouting, “Regina will never be who you want her to be! She’s _mine_! Do you hear me?!”

 

Emma, sullen and eyes red-rimmed, isn’t going to have any of that. “She’s not an object! She doesn’t belong to anyone! Regina’s fought for herself, she overcame so much to have the life she has now! You only want to ruin it, ruin her!”

 

“ _Fool_! The only reason Regina felt me within her is because I _am_ her! You insipid idiots had her pinning herself against herself, never daring to open your eyes to the fact that we are one in the same. You’re only ripping her into pieces, like _Mother_!” The Queen spits out disgustedly, true rage shining behind her opulent almost-black eyes and causing walls of the tower to rattle. “I was willing to step back,” the Queen shouts, a desperation to her, prompting the words to fall out – words Emma is not so sure she’s meant to hear, but they come anyway. “Willing to go to sleep, to hand over the reins fully to Regina, because she was finally,” and the Queen stops, all the fight draining from her, as if a realization is being made. The weight must be heavier than hell. Her lips quiver with a quiet rage, sputtering out the words, “She was _safe_.”

 

The Queen abruptly turns her back on Emma, pacing the lengths of the tower, collecting herself.

 

“And then you all came in,” she accuses, wringing her hands, “suggesting she should shed a part of herself, urging her to hate herself more than she already does! Abuse she allows, for the love of you. Well,” she chuckles darkly, glancing upon Emma in a way that makes Emma tremble uneasily, “thankfully I do not have that particular compunction.”

 

The Queen moves forward in a blur, reaches her hand to clutch at Emma’s throat and Emma flinches, trapped, shutting her eyes on instinct.

 

Emma expects to feel that hand closing up on her neck, choking the life out of her, but when she opens her eyes she finds the Queen, hand outstretched, fingers flexed, hesitating. The expression on her face is torn, eyes dark and consuming and frightful – and yet, the struggle is one she’s seen firsthand, the sight all too familiar.

 

Emma can hardly believe it, and so it’s in that shock, that sense of inconceivable recognition she finds within the Evil Queen, that prompts her to speak, voice low.

 

“You won’t kill me. You want to, but you can’t.” Emma says, very nearly breaking out into hysterics in the face of it, only she knows, with present company, it would be like signing a death wish and she’s not willing to push it. Not now.

 

The Queen quivers in place, staring, before she retracts her outstretched hand, ruby lips splitting into a grimace, furious. “And what spectacular flight of fancy would prompt such a false assumption, Savior?” her voice is low and flat. It sends a tingle down Emma’s spine. “The self-righteous arrogance passed down from your insufferable parents, perhaps?”

 

Emma Swan breaks out into a watery grin, her vision being clouded by unshed tears. It’s honestly something that would tumble from Regina’s mouth… which makes it true, damnit. She can see it, see _her_ , and if it’s one thing Emma Swan knows it’s that, capable or not, with Regina, words are always first and foremost a defensive measure.

 

She’s been in no real danger here, though the threats and imprisonment are real enough. She hardly feels much physical discomfort.

 

The chains around her wrist should be chafing at her skin raw. Her skin has remained intact. When night comes, she’s allowed to lay down on a thin mattress, not entirely inhospitable. She’s also been warm, too warm for the weather raging outside the tower. If she had her magic she could feel outward for a barrier, she’d bet that’s what’s kept the cold from touching her.

 

It’s with a relieved sigh that Emma answers, plainly – _knowingly_. “Because you’re Regina, and Regina would never hurt me.”

 

The Evil Queen’s dangerous smirk falters, the tell only visible to Emma for years of knowing the woman in front of her.

 

“We shall see.”

 

The Queen disappears in a puff of purple smoke.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regina's pov

The Hat. It’s the obvious lead.

 

Unfortunately, with no Jefferson currently in Storybrooke, it also happens to lead nowhere.

 

Regina doesn’t let that deter her from their only clue. She works tirelessly to summon the Hat. She remains with nothing to show for it.

 

 

⋄

 

 

At the end of the 18th day, Regina waits up in the mansion for Henry to get home. He's taken to patrolling with David one day out of the week. 

 

It’s been half a month and the secret is officially out. The townspeople as expected went up in a frenzy once the truth was revealed but David and Snow have taken an iron clasp grip of the situation, falling into old personas easily, doing what they do best; leading. Much to Hook’s satisfaction Regina has taken the brunt of the blame by most of the people, mostly those who aren’t in the inner circle of their friends or acquaintances, those who set their minds up without knowing the whole story. Her day is passed with a glare or two here, a word of disrespect there. It’s all very reminiscent of when the first curse had been broken only no one is afraid of her anymore.

 

It makes things very alienating though she daren’t show it. She holds her head high in public, calm and collected, yet behind the doors of her home, it all starts to pile up. The guilt most of all. She’s cried herself to sleep more times than she can count and the self-loathing leaves her gasping. She lies curled in bed most nights, hands covering her mouth so that the sounds of misery she makes won’t carry throughout the house, a worrying knot in her throat that she fears will eventually choke her every second life continues on like this; a world void of Emma Swan.

 

“Hey, Mom, you okay?”

 

Regina starts at the sound of Henry’s voice. He’s hovering at the doorway of the living room, the light of the hallway playing at his back.

 

“I didn’t hear you get in,” Regina says, redoubling the efforts to steel her nerves because she’ll be damned if Henry picks up on it.

 

“I came in through the back,” says Henry, taking his first steps into the room and sitting down beside her. “Any reason why you’re sitting in the dark?”

 

Regina blinks at her surroundings. She honestly hadn’t noticed. “Did you have fun with David?” she asks Henry instead, preferring not to go into the whys of her behavior.

 

“Yeah, he let me drive Emma’s yellow bug down the street,” Henry tells her, smile a mile wide. “But don’t tell her that when she gets back! She always said she wanted to be the one to teach me.”

 

Regina gives a soft chuckle, “I won’t.”

 

“Kay, thanks.”

 

They sit in companionable silence for a bit, Regina terrified to find herself completely out of her depths in how to talk to her own son like it’s a normal night. Right when she’s about to break, Henry’s hand covers her own.

 

“Mom, please talk to me,” he pleads. “I know you don’t want to put this on me because you think I’m too young to shoulder some of it, or whatever the reason is, but we both know Emma’s usually your person for all this stuff and she’s not here right now. I am. You don’t want me to take part in helping you find Emma, which you and I both know I think is stupid but that I can kinda accept, given the situation, but please, mom. Please, let me help you.”

 

Regina holds her son’s hands between both of her own and takes a deep shuddering breath, her shoulders hunching over. For a second it looks to Henry like she’ll refuse to let him help her, but then she’s speaking, her voice quieter than he’s ever heard.

 

“I just, I was so sure I was doing something good, Henry. I was prepared to sacrifice a part of myself for the greater good and then to have it all turn out this way, for the Evil Queen to have twisted this sacrifice into something separate from what I was trying to do in the first place,” Regina sighs, wiping away the tear that’s fallen in a practiced movement. “It really brings that whole saying from that story about ‘good intentions’ to heart. As indecipherable as texts go, and the writer should really work on that, it’s an apt description.”

 

“I think you might seriously be quoting from the Bible, Mom,” Henry grins, apparently finding that hilarious. “I know you were doing something good, something selfless, and I know it’s been really hard for you.” The way he says it, Regina momentarily panics. She wonders if he knows. If he can _see_ just what everyone else is missing. It wouldn’t completely surprise her. Henry’s always been cleverer than anyone gives him credit for. “You were doing good, Mom,” Henry stresses, “don’t you ever let anyone, not even yourself, take that away from you.”

 

Regina gives a rough intake of breath, wholly overwhelmed with the pillar of strength and support and kindness, the unshakable certainty, that fuels Henry’s belief in her. She’s only found the mirror of such support in one other person, Emma, and Regina is willing to bet that such compassion isn’t something that can be learned. At this point, she’d wager that it's plain biology.

  

“I also really do need to thank you, Henry. For directly disobeying my wishes last week. I’d never have thought Gold would come through with something so monumental. You saved us a lot of time by persuading him to bring us the Magic Globe.”

 

“I had to do something,” says Henry. He’s chagrinned yet he's not bowing down about it either, rather more resolutely defending his actions with no hint defensiveness. It makes Regina’s heart hurt, how fierce and blinding a force he is. How _good_. He always has been. “I really miss Ma,” he murmurs suddenly, quiet and a touch uncertain.

 

Regina reaches to cup Henry’s cheek with her palm. He doesn’t shy away from it like he has before, coiling up internally from the teenaged humiliation that accompanies such affections from one’s mother. It’s not remotely ‘cool’. Right now he’s just a boy, scared, in need of comfort.

 

“I miss her, too,” Regina says tremulously. Henry falls into her open arms and begins to openly weep, Regina stroking his hair and uttering hushed assurances. It’s a long-forgotten practice, one Regina aches to recall.

 

Once upon a time, her newly four-year-old boy would climb into her bed in the middle of the night and curl up in her lap, awoken by a recent nightmare in tears and needing his mother to make it alright. She had loved those moments, moments where she had been the hero Henry that had sought and needed.

 

Inspiration strikes.

 

"Henry, I think I have an idea."

 

 

⋄

 

 

The very next morning, Regina walks into Gold’s pawnshop. She doesn’t fail to notice that he’s packing, clearing out, with a very peculiar box placed beside the cashier as if it’s something precious. Reluctantly she admits, “I may need your help.”

 

“Well good morning to you too, dearie.” Gold responds, eyes lazily landing on Regina. “The front door does still say ‘closed’, does it not?” At Regina’s silence, he smirks and moves around the cashier’s counter, cane thudding lightly upon the wooden floor. “And how do you propose I help you? Haven’t I already helped enough?”

 

“Oh, you mean by selling the town to a monster?” Regina snaps, seemingly incapable of not making at least one dig. Hyde had cheerily dropped _that_ bombshell during a fight at the edge of town two days ago, smug as can be. Regina had wanted to punch him in the teeth.

 

It was such an Emma-like response, that.

 

And okay, so it was a deal. It’s what Gold _does_. Leverage and convenience are his typical MO, but seriously? It isn’t like Regina hasn’t known him to do worse, still. It was a kick to the shins to ‘Team Charming’ and since Regina now considers herself ( _ugh_ ) a member of ‘Team Charming’ – to quote Henry: it sucked.

 

“Has Belle filed for those divorce the Dark One papers yet?” Regina smiles. Though the question is openly hostile and rude as hell, her tone is an olive branch. Gold appears to recognize this and responds in equal measure:

 

“Have the Charmings caught on to what exactly you did in New York?” Gold queries. “Do they care? I wonder, Regina, if they give enough of a damn about you to worry over just what exactly you’ve given up.”

 

It’s nothing she hasn’t asked herself before and yet coming from Gold it’s almost too much to bear.

 

Gold, damn him, notices.

 

“Name your business, dearie,” Gold turns his back to her, offering her some privacy to pull herself together. Regina wonders if she’s become so easy to see through that even the Dark One feels shame. “The sooner you do the sooner we can get this over with.”

 

“How about you name a price, Gold?” Regina offers up, antsy. “I’ve more important things to do than stand around while you gloat.” She casts a knowing glance towards the box sitting on the counter and raises her brow, “And we both know so do you.”

 

Gold chuckles softly, seemingly unrattled, and begins circling around her like a vulture, however her request does pique his interest. He wouldn’t be taking his time fishing for more information to bargain for if he wasn’t curious.

 

“How about we leave the haggling for now as you do seem to be in quite a hurry,” he suggests. "Besides once the desire is known the price can be negotiated more fairly. Makes for better dealings, wouldn't you agree?"

 

It rankles Regina, the idea of not knowing what she’s settling for, but he’s not wrong. She wants to move things further along and the more time Emma remains missing the less the price seems to matter.

 

“So what is it that you want, Regina?” 

 

“I know in your time in the Enchanted Forest you procured a mirror,” Regina says.

 

Gold shrugs, “I’ve earned plenty of mirrors in my time, dearie. Be more specific.”

 

Regina grits her teeth, inhaling deeply and trying her damndest to remain civil. This is important. “It was a mirror given to me as a wedding present. From Sydney, before… before.” She ducks her face, the irrational urge to hide taking it’s hold. Even mentioning the ordeal with Sydney makes her wholly uncomfortable but here they stood, her past once more casting a shadow on her present. It's nothing she hasn't had to deal with before.  _Suck it up, Mills!_

 

From the lingering smirk on Gold's face, he too is enjoying this. 

 

“Go on,” he prompts.

 

Regina stands up straighter. “It was small. For personal use mostly, handheld. A mirror like most of my other mirrors. Enchanted. It could show you things. Places, or people. It worked from any distance in the realm, you just had to ask and your request would be granted.”

 

“In this world, it would be the equivalent of a FaceTime, yes?” Gold says. “Granted, if one had willing participants to pry on. You never did fancy such a transaction, did you?”

 

Regina ignores the dangling slight in front of her. It’s masked more as a test rather than an intended insult. Gold only wants to know how badly she wants this and just how much she’ll be willing to put up with for it.

 

She nods, ignoring him. "Almost exactly that."

 

“I remember,” Gold remarks with a sharp smile. “Now we can talk payment.”

 

Regina braces herself.

 

“Agree to my terms and I’ll tell you exactly where you can find it.”

 

It takes half a second and Regina hears herself uttering, “Name them.”

 

Gold huffs a breath, amused at how easy this was. “You and your gang of heroes will let me go about my business, the business with Hyde included. It’s done, there’s no changing it now. You will make certain that the Charmings keep loyal to this deal. If they are for any reason scandalized and need more of an incentive, just remind dear David that he and I shared a similar understanding once before. That should bring them down a peg.” Gold walks closer, “For the most part, we’ll simply make life easier for each other by staying out of each other's way. Short and simple, easy enough to follow. So what do you say? Do we understand one another?"

 

Regina contemplates the offer. She thinks of David and Snow, knowing she will have to fight tooth and nail to defend her actions if push comes to shove. There's a possibility they will see this as a case of the ends justifying the means, but it’s not that simple. Would they be capable of seeing the grey matter existing in the real world that they are currently living in, rather than their simplified fairytale black and white?

 

In truth whatever outlook they take on the matter doesn’t hold much weight in the grand scheme of things. It’s Regina’s job to clean up her messes. It’s Regina’s duty to fix what she’s broken. What other choice does she have? Gold remains the only resource for the moment.

 

“Deal.”

 

Gold’s grin widens a fraction. “I believe the mirror you’re looking for should be in the Dark Castle where I last left it, locked away for a rainy day. Let me guess,” he snaps his fingers and points at her, “this must be your very own rainy day.”

 

Begrudgingly, Regina agrees. “Precisely.”

 

Gold turns and walks back behind the counter, picking up the small box and pocketing it. He pulls out a parchment from the bottom of the counter and pulls out his dagger, allowing it to hover over the paper. Closing his eyes he recites a spell Regina cannot decipher and the paper lights up. Gold tucks his dagger back into his coat and holds the paper out for Regina to take, "These are instructions to find the mirror. If there is any wandering about from what lies in these instructions, believe me, neither you or whoever tags along will ever leave that castle. Not with your lives."

 

"Understood," Regina walks forward swiftly and takes the paper. She looks down upon it. It's a map, not detailed further than it has to be in any way, but it leads where Gold has promised. Typical. 

 

“It’s always lovely doing business with you, Regina. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have something more urgent to attend to.”

 

But he doesn’t move. He’s expecting something. She can see it in the hypercritical gaze that he’s adopted. The longer it takes the more Regina feels her skin crawl but like hell is she going to shrink away from the likes of him.

 

In the face of her continued silence, Gold chuckles, seemingly satisfied, before disappearing into the back of his shop.

 

 

⋄

 

 

“You made a _deal_?” shrieks David.

 

“With _Gold_?!” screeches Snow.

 

She’s asked them to meet at her office. They’re taking it about as well as she’d expected.

 

“Listen,” Regina says, placating, “now that I know where the object is I can send someone for it and hopefully effectively communicate with the very person who can help us figure this whole thing out. Anyway, I had always suspected Rumple to have taken a stowaway. It’s good to finally get confirmation.”

 

“You honestly expect someone in the Enchanted Forest to do you a favor, let alone make it in and out of the Dark Castle? _Alive_?” David replies, sounding especially pessimistic for the likes of him.

 

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.” Regina answers sarcastically, immediately flushing from the embarrassment of invoking David’s ‘Scolding Voice’.

 

Snow blinks in the face of Regina’s discomfort being cast out so openly and, of course, rides to David’s defense. “That’s not what he meant, Regina.”

 

“I’ll have you two know that I do have friends there,” Regina speaks up, trying her hardest not to cower in the face of Snow and David’s obvious doubts. It’s a feat not to take it personally. “Robins’ family, for one.”

 

“Oh!” Snow gasps, her face brightening at the mention, as if she’d somehow forgotten Robin’s merry men had relocated to the Enchanted Forest after his passing. Which would so be like her, if Regina is honest.

 

“Yes,” Regina chastises, “I know. It may be hard to believe, but I do plan before I act now.”

 

Snow and David wilt at their joint rashness having been exposed as such, the judgment falling away from their eyes in seconds.

 

“So,” David tries again, genuinely, “what exactly do you have planned?”

 

It’s as much of an apology as he’s going to give her, and Regina can’t help the grateful smile that quirks at her lips for it. “I thought you’d never ask.”

 

Regina presents her case and the Charmings remain silent until she’s explained it all, two pairs of eye on her, silent and thinking. She knows there are enough holes in the plan to poke at, she’d gone over it with Henry before she even considered going to Gold, but it’s nothing that can be helped so she knows she has nothing to actively worry about there. That said, she’s not prepared for David earnestly offering his praise when she’s done or for Snow, who beams at her with pride. She never saw such an emotion shining back at her from Mother’s eyes. Who knew brown eyes could look so adoringly at a child, not spiteful or disappointed or frustrated.

 

God, she never used to need the Charmings approval before. What the hell is happening to her?

 

David excuses himself, “I’m going to go finish up the patrol for tonight.” He kisses Snow before parting. “I’ll tell Hook the plan.” That much is directed at Regina. 

 

 _So you don’t have to,_ is left unsaid.

 

For some reason or other, Regina finds herself moved to silence for it. This… indebted, thankful… _thing_ blossoms. It’s too much. Oh, it's much too much. That feeling is reserved for Henry and... and maybe his biological mother, when Emma's not being completely ridiculous, but not the _Charmings_! She has got to get a grip on herself before her heart truly weights out and falls out of her chest! 

 

“I knew you’d think of something,” states Snow excitedly, choosing to linger behind and completely oblivious to Regina’s internal meltdown.

 

Regina shrugs it off (or  _tries_ to), moving back across her desk and putting space between herself and Snow. “I’m only grasping at what’s available to us. This plan; it’s far-fetched in presentation, I’ll admit, but as solid as we can hope for.”

 

“Oh come on, Regina! No one is working harder at this besides David and I than you! I can see the tole it’s taken on you. You’re in the vault from morning till dusk, or until we have to deal with whatever Hyde is choosing to throw at us. You’re exhausted all the time, eating less and you’re quiet, quieter than I’ve ever known you to be. Sadder than I’ve ever known you to be.”

 

It’s obvious Snow fears her observations are veering into uncertain territory because she gets this look on her face, a look that reveals she maybe said more than she had intended to say. She clears her throat and glances away. 

 

At this point, Regina would rather Snow think she’s overstepped than be forced to reveal just why these changes in her manner are occurring, the long-gone hollow inside effects from splitting with her other half. The utter vulnerability she's found herself, this stupid raw openness that she's helpless to engage in but that she can't deny makes her light magic burn brighter. This lapse, or whatever it is, in self-preservation. She's fallen prey to it over and over again whether she wishes to or not. 

 

“I… thank you.” Snow says. “We couldn’t have done this without you.”

 

“It’s what Emma would have done,” Regina answers, half on autopilot, “if it were me.”

 

Snow nods fiercely, smile bright and blinding, remembering. “Oh, that she would. Nothing would stop her from doing the right thing.”

 

Regina almost begins to cry.

 

 

⋄

 

 

Regina summons Zelena to the vault that very weekend. Snow, David, and Killian are out dealing with Hyde, putting off the inevitable, as with no Savior in town they have little chance of doing much else.

 

“Just what in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Zelena demands of her, green eyes wide and scandalized when she takes a good gander at the various magical objects surrounding the high table Regina is waiting behind.

 

“I can hear you, you know?” replies Regina. “There is no need to shout.”

 

“These are dark objects,” Zelena nears the table, gazing at Regina skeptically. “Not even the Dark One would dare use them. They’re detrimental to oneself at best.”

 

“Funny,” Regina quips, “Gold provided them. Or would have, had he not vacated his shop while I was in the rummaging mood.”

 

Zelena doesn’t seem to find that as funny as Regina does. _Fine_.

 

“Look,” Regina tries a different tactic, “I need someone I can trust who will do this with me, no objections.”

 

“And you figured that person would be me?” Zelena laughs, crossing her arms over her chest. “We don’t even really like each other, Regina, and as for no objections,” the redhead shrugs, “Have you met me?”

 

“I need my sister,” Regina answers plainly and Zelena starts at the candor. She takes that as an opening. “It calls for relations of kin to… to be a tether. This spell, I need to be connected through worlds if I’m to make it back.”

 

“Regina, what on earth are you planning?” Zelena inquires. “What kind of spell calls for this?”

 

Regina’s eyes flit to the table, quiet first, then steadier in her resolve. She takes a deep breath before asking, “Have you ever heard of a Roaming Spell?”

 

Zelena’s brow furrows, “No, never.”

 

“I was in Mother’s book. Rather, in a torn out page. It's what she did with things she was resolute never to use. It’s old, technically not practiced because of the risk. Thus, putting a damper on her whole self-preservation shtick." Zelena merely stares. Regina goes on, "It’s a sort of walking across realms spell, but you need a tether to hold you to where you really are. You go to sleep, well _a_ sleep, and your body sort of transcends to elsewhere.”

 

“This is for Emma, yes?” Zelena presumes. “Do the Charmings know about this?”

 

“They know of the objective, retrieving the mirror. That it would help but not specifically this, no. They wouldn’t see that this is the only way,” Regina maintains.

 

“My god, strike me down for saying so but perhaps that means that maybe it isn’t!”

 

“Zelena, we’re running out of time!” cries Regina. “I did this! Or, maybe, okay a _part_ of me did this, technically, but distinctions are semantics at a certain stage. This is my screw-up and I’m going to fix it, with your help or without it, so I need to know now. Are you with me?"

 

Zelena sniffs condescendingly and begins pacing the room, eyes transfixed upon Regina, thinking. “This plan means you’re going to face the Queen alone? Am I getting that right too?”

 

Regina is hesitant to nod, given Zelena’s tone.

 

She nods, “Not yet. I need to make a pit stop in the Enchanted Forest first. There could be information there that… helps.”

 

“Wow, you must be really desperate,” Zelena states, trying to rattle her sister but finding only an impassive shell. “So long as you know, this isn’t exactly a plan…”

 

“It’s more like a suicide mission, got it. I’m a big girl, Zelena.”

 

“Bossy pants on, too, I see.” Zelena huffs. "What the hell," her green eyes take on a sparkle, mouth splitting open in a wicked grin. “Robin's out for the night and she's a heavy sleeper. We really should work on our sisterly bonding."

 

Regina raises a hand to lock the vault. 

 

"So," Zelena prompts, nearing the table, "what is it you need me to do, Sis?" 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: There's a teensy-itsy-bitsy Aladdin parallel bit in this one, see if you catch it

“Come on, you can’t just keep me locked up here without any company!” Emma shouts into the empty tower, struggling uselessly against the magical binds secured around her wrists. They glow gold every single time she pulls at them, settling firmly against her skin like a second flesh. Perfect, almost. As if it took time and dedication to mold them so; with great thought and _care_.

 

Emma hastily pushes those notions from mind. It would be useless to dwell on theories she can’t prove at a time like this. After the Queen’s unexpected heartfelt outburst, followed by Emma’s own epiphanies, the Queen has made herself scarce. Emma hasn’t caught sight of her for what she imagines must be more than a few days (three, if she’s pushed to guess). The Queen’s flunkies, ridiculously small people shrouded beneath unkempt black cloaks, are all Emma has for company in the Queen’s absence, and they don’t talk much if at all. They keep her alive, mostly. Offer her a bowl of food here and a gallon of water there, a bath to wash, and then they leave her be. Sure, she’d been in a prison before, she knows the drill, but it’s not agreeing with her so well this second round. First of all, this? This scenario is some horrible temper tantrum a royally messed up person is having and taking out on Emma for no other reason than a belief she’s entitled to more. The longer it goes on, this radio silence, the more Emma’s less sympathetic to the cause. Even if it’s Regina. 

 

“It’s not in your interest to have me go apeshit, remember?” Emma tries again.

 

At the remaining silence, she falls back against the tower wall with a huff and a scowl. Eyes trained on the only door in and out of the tower, straining for any sign of disturbance, though she knows better. The Queen likes to ‘poof’ around places, not turn a doorknob like any normal person.

 

“Least not til Regina can see it for herself,” Emma mutters, more to herself than to anyone else, “That’s what you said. So go on and keep your word, Regina.” Emma’s eyes flutter shut and she breathes evenly, hoping. _Please please please_.

 

“That’s not my name,” comes the monotone response and _god_ , does Emma feel ever so relieved to hear it.

 

She smiles before she can help it and opens her eyes, peering across the room to find the Evil Queen in all her glory. She’s dressed in a gown of deep red with black linings, her long black hair pulled up in a high ponytail, sleek and fine as it cascades in soft curls down her back. Her eyes are as dark as they get, lips as red as blood.

 

“Of course it is,” Emma urges softly, not daring to move a muscle from her current spot in case the Queen proves in any way skittish and disappears on her. Emma shakes her head slightly to clear her thoughts. She hasn’t really followed through with what she’d say to the Queen once the other woman finally showed her face. “You look,” Emma pauses, thinking the Queen would hardly react kindly to any form of sentimentality or kindness, so she decides on, “positively terrifying?”

 

Emma’s mouth quirks up at the side in question and at first, she thinks the Queen will smile back at her, only it turns into a snarl.

 

“If you’re trying to seduce me, Savior, you’re barking up the wrong Regina,” the Queen responds sharply, conjuring an armchair the color of her dress for her to sit in.

 

Emma balks at that. “Woah, okay. I’m just trying to be civil here.”

 

“You keep telling yourself that, dear.”

 

There's a second armchair conjured and in a puff of purple smoke Emma’s momentarily engulfed in, she next finds herself sitting across from the Queen, the chains keeping her bound attached securely to the chair.  

 

“Oh, come on,” Emma lifts her wrists and the chains clank loudly. “Where exactly am I going to run?”

 

The Queen flits her dark eyes away and rests them on the only window occupying the tower, withholding Emma of a response.

 

“By the way, just because Regina is my best friend doesn’t mean I’ll be letting you get away with whatever the hell you want,” Emma states cautiously. “Twisting the relationship Regina and I have into something it’s not? That’s going too far, snide comment all you want, just not that.”

 

The Queen’s sharp gaze rolls over Emma’s form and she chuckles, a grand but terrible smile settling across her face.

 

It softens her features and as foolish as the expression overall is intended to make Emma feel, she can almost see the tell-tale signs of Regina in there… were she in there at all.

 

Emma attributes it as a trick of the eye and for a shining moment, it’s just like any other time she and Regina have spent together. Gathered, present, talking and laughing; two pillars stronger together than they ever were apart, of surety and security.

 

Emma, torn from all that she loves, allows herself a second to fully grasp at it then. The hopelessness that casts its dark and insidious spell, and the hope that is rooted too deep to cast out entirely. It’s never over until it’s over, Emma knows that.

 

“You know, you speak with too much authority for a woman chained in a tower with no magic to aid her whatsoever,” the Evil Queen replies too sweetly, watchful of Emma’s every move. The malignity dancing behind her eyes speaks of knowledge as if she can read what is going through Emma’s mind without even having to ask. It’s too much like Regina, that trait.

 

“I should change that,” the Queen says.

 

It’s a threat. Plain and simple.

 

“Where have you been?” Emma blurts, good-naturedly and undaunted.

 

It’s not what the Queen expects so she doesn’t answer immediately. Emma smirks. She gets the urge to cross her arms over her chest but finds it a feat, being chained and all. The movement proves too clumsy and so she chooses to grip the edge of the armchair instead.

 

“You were well kept,” the Queen frowns, palms curling up into a fist. “I don’t see why you’re so interested in business that has nothing to do with you.” Her lip curls up. “Could it be those insipid genes your parents possess are finally making their appearance?”

 

Emma narrows her eyes. “You know what, Gina? You can talk all the crap that you want about my parents, but you still never killed them. Whether you admit it or not, they’re family and you not only tolerate them; you like them.”

 

The Queen snarls, recoiling at the very notion. “I’d slit their throats first thing had I the patience to not just snap their spines with my own bare hands!”

 

“Whatever you say, Queenie.” This time Emma does manage to get her arms across her chest, mostly out of sheer determination. “I’m still not buying it.”

 

The Queen rises instantly, nearly pouncing straight from her seat, hand curled, seeking for Emma’s chest, intending to _pluck_ ….

 

The Queen freezes, half on Emma’s lap.  

 

Emma sits utterly still.  

 

They’re close, faces mere inches away from each other. The Queen breathing heavily, _furious_. Emma, not daring to breathe at all.

 

The Queen _wants_ to kill her, Emma can see that plainly. Whether she’s able to or not, the intent is there.

 

Startled by how unprotected she finds herself, Emma’s first instinct is to slink away, to shield herself from the threat. There is no need. The Queen has recoiled first as if burnt, letting out an agonizingly frustrated roar before turning and stalking away, a blur of red who slams the door shut behind her. The door rattles on its hinges.

 

Emma’s shock still, heart beating wildly inside her ribcage, and wonders for the first time if her observation could have possibly been wrong. Was her Regina really any part of the Evil Queen?

 

 

⋄

 

 

The night was fast gaining and the campfires in Sherwood Forest were dimmed low with only a few choice men remaining awake in their camp. Friar Tuck sat near the fire, completely engrossed in carving up a miniature dwarf from a left-over tree stump. Little John snored peacefully. The boy, Roland, lay looking up at the sky and the stars within it.

 

It all happened faster than the boy could perceive. A shout of alarm and the men around the fire were awake, taking directives. Roland propped himself upward, standing on his own two feet while a body threw itself in front of him, rolling into position, his bow raised.

 

As the boy finally caught sight of the intruder over one of the Merry Men’s shoulder, happiness engulfed him. He exclaimed, “Regina!” maneuvering himself excitedly around the man in his way and intending to barrel into his old friend.

 

“Sweetheart!” Regina cried, sweeping down upon her knees to better encircle the boy in her arms.

 

Friar Tuck instructed those newly joined to their band of men to lower their bows, that the woman who had shown up on them unexpectedly was family, only the oddest thing occurred next.

 

As Roland was reaching Regina, he passed right through her. 

 

 

⋄

 

 

There aren’t many people left to take her frustrations out on where the Queen has chosen to hide herself and the Savior away, but there are still creatures and the land around them, though most have given way to the frosty temperature.

 

The Queen kills every single thing that scurries afoot, alive, in her path. She destroys any piece of life growing on the land, setting fire to the trees and the homes that still stand. She rages and screams and damns the air and the world around her, the Savior especially.

 

When she returns to the tower her hands are covered in blood and the bottom of her gown is ruined but she’s renewed herself in her resolve: by the time Regina comes, because she will come, the Queen will have found a way to kill the Savior. In doing so, she will take the one pesky growth of eternal oblivion from Regina once and for all. Call it her final act of kindness. To smother true love before it has a chance to grow rotten.

 

Then, once her revenge has begun to echo around them both, once Regina is well and truly on her knees and the taste of victory is imminent, she will put an end to the girl in the stables, as she should have years ago.

 

Love live the Evil Queen.

 

 

⋄

 

 

“I’m sorry, it’s a spell,” Regina explains as best as she can to the Merry Men, her eyes never lingering far from the boy who stands beside Little John with a very prominent frown on his face. Roland, who looks more and more like his father now than he had when he had left her. Taller and skinnier than she’d last seen him, too. It’s an ache, to know she’s missed that. “I’m still in Storybrooke right now, my body, but my consciousness is here. The thing is, I needed help and I had hoped to ask for yours.”

 

Friar Tuck exhales, “It’s the dead of night, Regina.”

 

Regina is immediately chastened, wincing. “I know. But the thing is I wouldn’t come if I had any other choice. This is truly the last thing I want to do, to bring you all into this mess when you didn’t make it. When you’re obviously living peaceful lives here, but the Evil Queen has to be stopped. I’m afraid where she’ll turn to next if she isn’t.”

 

And doesn’t that thought just make a chill run down everyone’s spine?

 

“How did she get free again?” Morton, one of their new recruits asks uneasily.

 

“’old on, ‘old on,” A voice calls from out of nowhere. A body is suddenly dropping out from above, out of a tree, and rights themselves in front of Regina, she’s surprised to know the face that greets her. Will Scarlett.

 

“Will,” she exclaims, “I thought you’d gone to Wonderland!”

 

“I can come back for a bit of a visit now and again, can’t I?” The man snaps back.

 

He looks more put together than she’s ever seen him.

 

“So you come over here in the dead of night skulking around endeavoring to get one of us to, what? Smuggle ourselves inside the Dark One’s castle and steal something _he himself_ told you was okay to steal? And you trusted him?” Will Scarlett’s eyes are piercing and Regina falters thinking around the point the longer he stares.  

 

A bit of muttering begins to fall around the camp at that. It’s obvious the new men take to Will like a founding father which could go to or against her favor. The fact that Roland tries to grab her hand again only to reach through for nothing makes Regina nearly curl up on herself and break at the unfairness that this trip has caused, however unknowingly.

 

“Well, we all know what Robin would have had to say about it,” Little John offers up.

 

A hush passes by while the Merry Men all look upon one another. Will Scarlett’s eyes look on at her passively, seemingly ready to disagree. Regina braces herself.

 

“Alright, points taken, men,” Will sniffs aloud, brushing his hand off on his shirt. “We all know the most important rule, here. You want yourself a thief you find the best one of the lot,” he cracks a smile and extends his hand out towards Regina. “Will Scarlett at your service, your majesty. Though I suppose you can’t quite shake on it, can ya?”

 

Regina forces herself to smile, nodding in acceptance.

 

Will offering himself up so easily, Regina isn’t sure if this is a blessing or a curse.

 

 

⋄

 

 

The Queen has found it easier to be in the Savior’s presence after nights of bloodshed and general ruin have been enacted. At this moment, they sit in companionable silence. She’s even conjured up magazines one would find in Regina’s kitchen to keep them occupied. It’s the tabloids that specifically always held the Queen’s fascination, for whatever reason that may be.

 

“Why didn’t you take Henry?” the Savior asks after a page swish. “Why me?”

 

“Why would I take Henry?” the Queen responds with enough ire that signifies she thinks the idea preposterous.

 

The Savior’s lips purse tightly, her indignant blue eyes skirting from the pages of the magazine fall on practically every inch of the room but on the Queen. They finally settle on the chains around her wrists.

 

The Queen finds herself merciful in this hour and explains, calmly, “I’m trying to hurt Regina, not myself.”

 

The Savior keeps her silence.

 

It’s infuriating, as is everything about Emma Swan. But _that_ , impertinent as it is, the Queen has come to expect words and opinions to flow on almost literally anything, yet. And _yet_. Emma has chosen to become fairly more guarded since their last encounter.

 

“ _Speak_ ,” the Queen demands.

 

Emma’s eyes widen and her lips part only to remain voiceless. The Queen bristles, it sours her mood and she disappears the magazines with a flick of her wrist.

 

“Hey!” the blonde nitwit dares to complain, and the Queen’s eyes fall in attention to those lips, expectant of… something.  

 

Emma notices this and her mouth falls open, wordless. She shrugs, “Well what do you want me to say?”

 

“Anything!” cries the Queen. “ _Anything_ but this ridiculous tractable version of you. _This_ you is proving itself more irksome than the version that can’t shut the hell up to save its life!”

 

Emma’s face darkens with a flush and she spits her words out like a stain. “I’m not the one unlike myself here.”

 

The Queen flinches, utterly mortified with the accusation and how it… it _stings_.

 

First, this Savoir thinks to become Regina’s only confidant, to supersede _her_ place in Regina’s life; her protector. Now she dares to name judgment upon her for simply doing what needed to be done? To survive? Oh, she won't stand for that. 

 

The Queen’s lips twist and she snarls. In seconds she’s stalking right towards Emma Swan, heels sounding like fresh hell upon the stone floor.

 

Emma immediately scrambles up from the ground and presses herself up against the wall, hands held out, preparing herself for whatever the hell is about to happen.

 

The Queen doesn’t stop at Emma’s outstretched arms, pushing them away easily with a forceful shove. Her palm reaches to cup Emma’s chin and the Queen tilts it upward, squeezing, so Emma’s stuck looking up at her, lips pursed.

 

“Some people haven't been gifted the narrative to be right, Savior,” the Queen pronounces, her voice a low rasp. “Some of us have to live within the realm of other people’s choices, forcefully boxed in and caged; not of choice, but of survival.”

 

“There’s always a choice,” Emma maintains, her words fumbled by how the Queen has a hold on her.

 

“Not always,” the Queen opinions, “but eventually, I’ll give you that much.” She lets go of Emma’s chin. “Those choices you’re so fond of, they either make or break you. _I_ never allowed anything as simple as _choice_ touch Regina again.”

 

Emma holds her breath. The Queen stands even closer, invading; the conqueror. She’s a force of will that won’t stop. Emma knows she shouldn’t find that just a tiny bit glorious, but there are lines that shouldn’t be crossed, by anyone. Regina knows that. The Queen, apparently less so.

 

“Regina is a child,” says the Queen, a mercurial mood seizing her, softening her. “She wants love, appraisal, and protection. Mother would only say, ‘the things you want you have to earn.’ Much as Regina tried, Mother never gave her those things. _I_ gave her those things. I built them,” the Queen’s voice rises, impassioned, “upon the cages we were put in and the magic that I honed, with _my_ blood and _her_ blood and life and death, _I_   _-"_ The Queen stops abruptly, her voice catching, eyes suspiciously glistening.

 

Emma exhales. _Oh._

 

“Regina is the girl in the stables,” the Queen utters, uncharacteristically sad. “She’s pain and heartache and _innocence_ , expecting people to hurt her and being conditioned to think she deserves it. I carried her out of that barn and made us more than that, so the next time you get the urge to divide the whole of who we are, why don’t you take the time to really grasp at who you are tearing apart here.”

 

The Queen and Emma stare at each other, and in the end, Emma asks again.

 

“But really,” she keeps her voice light, neutral, “Why me?”

 

The Queen doesn’t break eye contact. There’s obvious hesitation, the way her eyes are filled with blankness, mind elsewhere, recollecting bits of herself before she’s back in the moment. Back with Emma, openly staring, almost awestruck.

 

“Because if I was going to take one of Henry’s mother’s, he was going to need one of us to stay behind.”

 

A fondness rushes forward inside of Emma for the simple care the Queen has taken between the act of kidnapping her and still prioritizing Henry. It’s a ridiculous sort of reaction, Emma knows, but it’s an action. An action that speaks. Through the madness, whatever it is, Regina will never leave Henry alone. But this isn't about Henry, for once. 

 

Emma begins to cry, her heart feeling as heavy and weary as she supposes it ought to, upon the realization. It’s all so absurd. There is no true logic to this kind of thinking, but there never is with survival. You just  _do_.

 

“You love her,” Emma states, knowing there is no need to clarify whom she is talking about. 

 

The Queen watches her tears with a fascination that should be eerie, the answer waiting to be given will seal her fate.  

 

“Of course, I love her,” the Queen utters, fiercely and with a hint of bared teeth. "All the good it did me."

 

And Emma is transferred back in time, to the moment she first brought Henry back to Mifflin street. To the time she’d first met Regina, a Regina who was admittedly more like the one who stands before her now than anyone else. A Regina who threatened her like most people say hello and who still put Henry before anything, especially herself.

 

Emma could smile. 

 

 

⋄

 

 

They, Regina and Will, set off from the camp at the first light of day. Roland makes her promise to visit again. Regina smiles kindly at the boy and assures him that she loves him, refusing an answer to slip free to his request when she knows the impossibility of granting it.  

 

Accompanying Will Scarlett to Rumple’s Dark Castle is no great confidence builder either. He carries on the conversation with or without Regina’s input and wanders off silently only to rejoin sporadically. She’s getting the feeling he’s doing it just to track her, watching her and reappearing when she’s just about had it with the waiting.

 

It’s an off feeling, is what she’s getting at. He’s not exactly the type she’d choose to watch her back but what other choice does she have?

 

They reach the castle a little time before the sun sets and Regina is adamant to repeat the rules. “We follow the map Gold has provided, no side trips whatsoever. Go it?”

 

“Yeah, can we get this going along the way?” Will shrugs her off, naturally cocksure of himself. “Got stuff to do on me own time, dear.”

 

Regina bears the jibe with a grimace and turns to approach the door of Rumple’s castle. With a spell uttered and a wave of her hand, the door unlocks and parts, opening for them.

 

Knowing to be wary, Regina pauses. Will doesn’t. He walks right inside.

 

“You coming?” he turns to look back at her.

 

Regina scowls and does.

 

The navigation proves less complicated as Will is silent at her side and less challenging altogether, taking her orders in stride. When they arrive at the corridor nearing the tower her mirror lies waiting, there is a magical barrier and Regina is disheartened to find she cannot cross it. Will passes it without trouble.

 

“I can’t go,” she admits. “It’s behind that door, the green one, but there’s magic here that won’t let me pass.”

 

“Right then, up to me,” Will says. “Be back in a jiffy.”

 

“Will!” she shouts out before he can go a step forward, worry seizing her beyond imagining. “Touch nothing else,” she pleads with him. “Nothing but the mirror, got it?”

 

Will grins patronizingly, “So you said, only about a dozen times.”

 

And off he goes.

 

It seems she has little to no choice but to trust Will with what happens next.

 

Which happens to be a spectacularly bad idea.

 

“You _idiot_!” Regina rages, not an hour later, as she finds herself following closely behind one Will Scarlett in the midst of a crumbling corridor.

 

The thief carries with him a sack full of Gold’s belongings wearing the determination of a man on a mission, beaming back at her with unreserved glee.

 

“S’a helluva thank you, love. I’ve got your dingy mirror by the way,” he shakes the sack obnoxiously and carries on, his limbs faster than she can conceive in her anger.

 

Miraculously, they make it out. Regina can’t shake off the feeling that there’s more to it.

 

Will rummages through the sack and fishes out the mirror, handing it over.

 

“I can’t carry that,” she states.

 

“Look, if you think I’m going to do all the heavy lifting,” Will starts, only Regina, exasperated beyond measure, interrupts.

 

“I’m not physically here, you fool!”

 

Will, appearing to have forgotten that, chastens instantly. “Right, okay. My mistake. So what do you want me to do with it then?”

 

“I need you to take it to my castle,” Regina says, watching Will warily.

 

“Don’t look at me like that, I’m not about to steal your knick-knacks alright?”

 

Regina looks at the sack on his back pointedly.

 

“That’s different,” Will argues.

 

They spend a time just staring at each other, neither willing to relinquish their stance.

 

Regina relents first. The sun is setting fast. “Go to my castle and deliver the mirror to a knight, call him Graham. Tell him it’s to help Snow White. He’ll do whatever you ask.”

 

Will nods his head at her once, stuffing the mirror back into his sack. He turns without another word and heads off, not bothering to ask her what she’s going to do in the meantime.

 

 

⋄

 

 

The modest home she seeks out is still standing, albeit with some renovations.

 

Regina is pondering just how she’s going to knock on a door without the ability to do so, when a twig snaps, signaling her attention to it.

 

He stands a good distance away, berries having been gathered in a basket. It appears he’s long since rid himself of those suits he’d endured in Storybrooke and fitted himself back into his more whimsical leathers, he's just missing a hat. 

 

“Hello Jefferson,” Regina greets. “I was hoping you could help me with something.”


	5. Chapter 5

Night looks into the tower, pitch black, a moon resting high in the clouds, yet the Queen has not taken leave. Emma doesn’t necessarily feel uncomfortable about that, rather she feels more uncomfortable about how comfortable she does feel in the Queen’s presence. The Queen is volatile and openly antagonistic, yes. Emma could even go as far to say that the Queen absolutely loves to be as such, explosively responsive as she is. The Queen can also be irrational in all her fury, a child throwing a tantrum, sure, but she’s so classically Regina that Emma cannot find a starting or ending point to measure against. She’s there and then she’s not, like a phantom limb. It’s disconcerting to say the least, but Emma is grateful. It makes her feel less like she’s out of control in the situation.

 

There are even quirks. The solemnity, for one. The Queen frowns more than not, especially when she’s not performing and being _the Great and Terrible Evil Queen_. She’s quiet and still and stares into the nothingness, detached, far away in a place Emma can only assume torments her, as her eyes go all glossy and her voice thickens when she speaks. She wrings her gloved hands together, fingers restless and body coiled, ready for anything. The side of her blood red lips twitch. Often in a grimace or a snarl, either or. Emma’s not figured out of there’s much of a difference. The Queen is also completely bereft of nonsense. Emma has tried telling jokes or making a quip and the Queen will simply stare, her face utterly passive and nonreadable, but then Emma will offer a shaky smile or laugh nervously, and the Queen will roll her eyes – _just like Regina_ – and Emma finds she can breathe again.

 

“Can I ask you a personal question?” Emma blurts, breaking their companionable silence for the night. 

 

The Queen blinks, her eyes dark and holding an ageless depth when they land on her. After a clearing of her throat, the Queen says, “Would it matter if I said yes or no?”

 

Emma rolls her eyes and scowls, “ _Yes_.”

 

The Queen’s lip twitches and, okay. So, Emma likes to think of those as almost smiles. The Queen runs a hand down the front of her dress, smoothing the fabric. “Ask what you will, Savoir.”

 

“How did you sacrifice your father?”

 

The Queen stops, her body going still as stone, and Emma cringes, muttering a choice ‘sorry’ in return for what could have been pure tactlessness. However, she _is_ curious, so she waits. Eyes glued upon the Queen. She tucks her knees up against her chest and her head rests upon her knees.

 

The Queen holds her head higher still as she stands and walks the length of the room, deciding on her reply. Emma can’t help admiring how graceful the Queen appears with her every movement, how purposeful and confident. Not to mention attractive, if Emma got right down to it. It’s not something one misses. But then Regina’s always been gorgeous, so….

 

“Well,” the Queen breaks Emma from her internal wandering and gestures with a hand, making use of the voice Emma speedily recognizes as the tone she uses to lecture Henry. “How did you sacrifice Cruella De Vil?”

 

Emma blanches. “Okay, that’s _so_ not the same thing here!”

 

“Isn’t it?” The Queen says conversationally. “There were important things at stake and the ends justified the means, so. I fail to see what the difference is in our two scenarios.”

 

“He was your father,” Emma stresses.

 

“Yes. And so, he understood,” the Queen declares confidently. “From that little trip to the Underworld we took, we both know this. He forgave me and not only that, he did not for one second judge me for it. Now _that’s_ true love.”

 

The Queen’s pleased smile has Emma narrowing her eyes. “Are you insinuating something? We were talking about you here.”

 

“No,” the Queen shakes her head, “we’re talking very much about you, Savior. It’s why you’re asking me but never once did you think twice about asking Regina.”

 

“Hey, that’s not fair! Regina regrets-”

 

“And I don’t!?” the Queen blusters. “Do you really think I enjoyed killing my own father, the only person who _ever_ truly loved me?”

 

“Regina, you know that’s not true anymore," Emma tries to soothe over a sore point, as this so obviously is becoming. 

 

The Queen chuckles, disbelieving. “You have the audacity to say that to me? You, who wanted me _gone_ , who wanted to take up the space where _I_ belonged! Where Regina needed me, loved me,” her voice thunders in the room, “ _my_ space!”

 

Emma’s up and walking forward before she can register it. “That’s not true,” the chains around her wrists clank and pull, holding her in place, “I never-”

 

“You did,” the Queen asserts, stomping forward to meet Emma halfway, “you _are_! You’re just like the rest of them! I thought you’d… we’d,” the Queen veritably chokes with the words, too prideful to let them free. Brown eyes meeting blue, steady on. The Queen chuckles wryly. “It was Regina who had thought we’d found ourselves an equal,” she says, her tone painting Regina as the foolish half for having had such a notion. “That we’d found someone who saw us, finally. That maybe, just maybe, a Savior would see through all of that. But you? You just wanted to tear her apart, split her open, leave her incomplete. Just like _Mother_.”

 

Emma recoils as if slapped.

 

“And no one knows, no one understands, no one _sees_. It was _me_! I hold Regina, and Regina marches on! I loved her completely! I would die for her; I, who kills for her. Who accepts her, with all that we’ve done,” the Queen declares, verbally impassioned like Emma’s never seen her, a gleam in her eye that’s reaching, _wanting_. “I tell her we’re okay, I tell her we’re perfect. But will _they_ ever want us? Want _her_ , with _me_. _Whole_! Because want it or not, that’s how it works!” The Queen’s voice has risen yet all the false bravado that has held its place withers before Emma’s eyes, until the Queen quiets entirely, face miserable and blank while each statement sinks and settles.

 

And there the Queen stands, hushed, an ancient divided thing. Searching and ailing and angry. A woman who never sought out to be a Queen but was instead caged and forced into being one, whom only at the heart of her ever sought to be free. A woman whose only option for so long was to fight, to become; to conquer or die.

 

Emma can see it now, shades of a being. The girl who once sacrificed her soul for love and the one who never quite got it back. _We are both._

 

“I’m sorry,” Emma utters fiercely, and the Queen’s eyes snap open and up, lightning quick to hers. Disbelief and shock written within her entire expression, then, she's seething with anger. Like she’s been told this particular lie before.

 

Despite the million reasons not to, Emma bravely reaches out for the Queen's hand and seeks her gaze, holding it. She repeats herself, loud and clear, “I didn’t, no. _We_ didn’t know that this was what we were really doing. You have to believe me when I say we never meant to cause you harm.”

 

At the Queen’s flinch, Emma grimaces, hand closing tighter around the Queen's gloved one. 

 

“But it looks like we did that anyway.” The Queen watches Emma with wide eyes at the admission, blinking only when Emma manages to take gentler hold of her left hand. She watches the way Emma’s hand molds to fit against her own, their fingers entangling, softened with the language of affection. “And you owe us nothing, you really don’t,” Emma continues, voice low but firm, blue eyes wide and painfully honest. “I get it, and you did nothing wrong in that. That’s on us.”

 

The Queen feels a rush of familiar cruelty as it flows deep and dark and dangerous inside the caverns of her broken heart, storming against her nature and swarming out and around, enveloping her, like a curse. One born from an assured gentleness of a single touch, and her heart suddenly yearns for the safety of the stables because this may just be deadlier.

 

“I’m so sorry, Regina,” Emma says, and the words come out wobbly.

 

Glancing up, the Queen finds there are tears glistening in the Savior’s eye.

 

The Queen tugs her hand free from Emma’s roughly and poofs from the room without another word.

 

 

⋄

 

 

Henry, along with the idiot Charmings and that ridiculous pirate, have seen it fit to make their way into Regina’s vault by force and thereby land upon the scene.

 

Zelena sits on the plush cushions of one sofa playing with Robyn while Regina lies unconscious on the other. Magical items are still on full display on the altar. It’s not hard to work out something is at play here.

 

“You cannot be serious?!” Snow bellows, once Zelena’s been forced to explain herself. “Regina brings you some ancient spell and you agree to it without knowing the full consequences?!”

 

Robyn, who sat content but seconds ago, startles abruptly at Snow’s high-pitched mewling. The child begins to sniffle and coo unhappily, her eyes watering, and Zelena bares her teeth in fury. To her utmost satisfaction, Snow shrinks away almost instantly when seethingly vibrant green eyes land on her full of accusation. 

 

“Okay, just tell me this is all reversible,” David says calmly.

 

Zelena coos at her daughter, insistent on settling her first before replying. "Regina insisted this was what she wanted to do. I had my doubts, too, I'm not completely without wits you know? But you know what she’s like when she wants what she wants. I was not about to let her do it alone or god forbid, find someone else with their own shoddy motives to help her.”

 

“Mom,” Henry’s voice can be heard in the background, soft and gentle, as he kneels beside Regina’s unconscious form. “Mom, can you hear me?”

 

“She can’t hear you, dear,” Zelena answers him, which earns her a leveling look from the pirate. “Well, she can’t!”

 

“Aye, if you could repress being your ever so tactless self in front of the lad, it’d be much appreciated.” Killian quips, growing all huffy and puffy the more he lingers without more to do.

 

“Oh, don’t pretend you care!” Zelena scowls vehemently. “All the others may be able to give you a free pass and call it grief or worry or whatnot, but I’m not everyone. You’ve been quite keen to take Regina down a notch every step of the way in this situation so don’t be playing it high and mighty with me, pirate.”

 

“You listen here, witch,” Killian starts, raising his hook, only Zelena’s forcefully shoves it aside with a palm, stepping closer and pointing a finger right between his eyes, Robyn gurgling in her arms all the while. 

 

“You point that grubby hook of yours at me and mine again and I’ll make sure you’re all separate ends no one will ever find, be it this world or any other one,” she grits out fiercely. A promise.

 

“How about we take a moment,” David is there suddenly, hand at Killian’s shoulder. After another moment of intense glaring Killian backs off, eyes downcast. Zelena scoffs, unimpressed and wandering towards Henry.

 

“How do we bring her back?” Snow inquires once tempers are less heated, bringing matters back to play. 

 

“You’re going to do it, are you?” Zelena chuckles (as she'd really like to see that) patting Robyn’s back genially while she sways in place. “You and what magic?" Snow remains silent. "Honestly, there’s no reason to go all hysterical," Zelena snaps. "She’s fine!”

 

Henry cuts in with a question, “Then why are her fingers turning blue?”

 

Zelena blinks, securing a hold on Robyn before glancing down at her sister and zeroing in on Henry's implication. Snow, David and Killian follow close behind. Regina appears virtually unbothered, face peaceful as one would be in a dream, however when one focuses on her hand. Well, that makes an alarming sight indeed. The fingers on her left hand have taken a different shade, a bruised blue coloring is permeating from the tips.

 

“Is that normal?” Snow asks anxiously, eyeing Zelena like she should know better.

 

Zelena shrugs, the indignation of Snow’s expectance simmering down with concern for her sister. “I don’t… I, there were things that would happen. She made that clear.”

 

“We need to wake her up,” pleads Henry.

 

Zelena notes some serious eye contact goes on between him and his grandparents, nonverbal communications. 

 

“She said not to wake her before the day had gone by!” Zelena persists. “She said she’d need time! You can’t wake her up yet!”

 

“Clearly saving Regina is more important than following orders,” David says, moving past Zelena and over towards the altar, preparing to sift through the ingredients.

 

Zelena takes up a snappish tone and says, “Clearly saving your daughter should take more precedence over a few uncomfortable side-effects of a powerful spell.”

 

David stills and stares. Zelena raises a brow in challenge.

 

“So, this was for Emma,” Henry says, voice sounding less conflicted that it had moments ago and even a little intrigued.

 

“Of course, it was,” Zelena responds with a roll of her eyes.

 

“I don’t like this,” David declares, more to his wife than anyone else in the room.

 

Snow peers over at him and nods, “I don’t either.”

 

“I don’t think any of us do,” Henry spoke up, “but Mom obviously did this because she felt she needed to and I think, going on how things escalate from here to sundown, we should trust her. She said she needed time, and whatever she’s done it’s to help Ma, so we should help her too.”

 

The Charmings look at their grandson for a very long time.

 

“Sundown,” Snow says finally. “No latter than sundown. We will _not_ lose Regina, too, so help me.”

 

“Sundown,” David agrees.

 

Killian nods his head. "Aye."

 

“Zelena, you know what has to be done to wake her, right?” Snow inquires.

 

“Do I look particularly daft?” Zelena snarks. At Henry's nudge, Zelena deflates. “Oh, of course I do," she answers testily. 

  

“Good. Then how about we get that ready for when we need it,” Henry suggests, holding his arms out to take Robyn.

 

Zelena relents and hands over her daughter to her nephew. “ _Fine_.” She stalks up to the altar and maneuvers David out of the way.

 

_Thank you,_ Snow mouths at Henry. Henry merely shrugs, moving to sit beside his unconscious mother.

 

 

⋄

 

 

_Hello Jefferson, I was hoping you could help me with something._

 

Jefferson stares and neither of them moves. Her words sit in the air, awkward and stilted. Interrupted only by noises from the forest around them. Their surrounding seems to become all the louder the faster day leaps into night, or perhaps Regina just isn’t used to this life anymore. Everything in the forest is so alive, it actively moves. Breathes.

 

As if coming back to himself, Jefferson takes a deep breath and resumes movement, inching towards her. His shoulders speak of caution, limbs tight and jawline set. He’s expectant, Regina realizes, reading his reaction for what it is. Simply, he expects an attack.

 

“Forgive me, your majesty,” Jefferson says, once he reaches close enough to snarl right in her face, “but I’m not falling for that one again.” He smiles, sharp and resentful, and then actively steps around her and marches forth in the direction of his cottage.

 

“Jefferson, please,” Regina follows after him, “I know I’ve done unforgivable things. I’m sorry for the pain I caused you, if I could do anything to change it,” but she stops, because would she really change a thing? Instead, she says, “I really do need your help, Jefferson. _Please_. It’s about Emma!”

 

With that plea, Jefferson stops. Hesitates. “Emma’s in trouble?”

 

Regina’s eyes fall shut, pained. “Emma’s been taken,” she tells him, “and I’m trying to find her. Save her. And I need your help to do that.”

 

Jefferson stares at a path leading north from here, into the forest. He thinks. “My daughter will be back soon,” and it’s as if the thought sobers him of any more thoughts because he decides. “Goodbye, Regina,” he says, taking the last measure of steps towards his home, opening and shutting his door right in her face.

 

Regina, thoroughly chastened, knows there is no one else to blame for his treatment of her. She knows it’s deserved to a point, but there is another part of her. That part would have been indignant instead, far more over than anything else. That part would have pushed, would have demanded, would have rained down the heavens no questions asked. She’d have just taken what she needed, once.

 

Where is that fire now? That _rage_? She thinks of Emma. Of wherever she is, of wherever still needs finding. Thinks of how it’s getting dark here, nightfall at her very heels, and that night means that she’s running out of time. It’s in the vein of that missing other half who would have made it so much easier to take instead of ask that Regina glides right through Jefferson’s front door like a ghost with all of her guilt and scares the living crap out of him.

 

 

⋄

 

 

The Queen has a room in the tower of her very own. A room she’s magicked to her comfort. With the remarkably tall ceilings, which is already her preference, it wasn’t hard to create a home here. Where there was once a rubble of decaying stoned bricked walls, there is now sparkling marble coated in the sleekest black. Where there were cobwebs there now hangs cloths of rich vibrant velvet to accent the room, adding a dash of color into the mix. The bed is luxurious beyond imagining, gargantuan, with silk sheets and lace trimmings over the edge of the bed.

 

The room is _made_ for a queen. Yet still, the Queen finds it to be the least habitable place in the tower. And the cold, always the cold.  

 

It’s to this room that she has occupied, to this room she has fled.

 

The Queen paces the length of the room, which is vast and silent and returns not her wits, no, but merely echoes loudly the pounding of her heart.

 

She worries anxiously over the hand the Savoir had presumed to grasp upon, _her_ hand!

 

“The _idiot_!” the Queen curses aloud. 

 

Black silk glove still in place, it barred the worst of it, the Queen further decides. There was no skin to skin contact, however there’s a flutter in her gut that makes her antsy. A warmth that the touch has, inexplicably it seems, managed to bleed right through. To cling, to magnify. It's much the same feeling she gets when she does magic.  

 

“No,” she grits her teeth and with a burst of magic flowing through her hand, the bed implodes, dusted pieces of wood and fabric flinging throughout the room.

 

The Queen continues pacing, wriggling the fabric of her glove between her fingertips as she marches a hole through the floor, feelings of desperation and terror building. Memories come then, memories that give sudden clarity to exactly what she is feeling. Memories of a scarred gold hand once circling around her still desperately young neck, back to the days when she still believed in happy endings and learning magic from the Dark One was something akin to falling in love. His hand was strong, and his magic was stronger and with one snatch he pulled her high enough up off the ground.

 

Rumple had always been intent, and he had known exactly what he was doing as he carefully but agonizingly pressed a finger against her air supply, and she, a helpless creature in his grasp, dangled, fingernails clawing at his scale-like flesh the more she realized that he might not let go.

_“You’re free falling, an impotent thing to stop once in motion,”_ the Dark One had advised, “ _lessons learned you may have, dearie, but don’t you go and forget that falling hardly ever feels like falling at first, up until one has you right by the jugular.”_

_Emma,_ the name floods the Queen’s consciousness and tears blur her vison because to name her  _Emma_  instead of  _Savior_  will be the makings of her undoing. She knows this lesson. She’s learned it. She’s perceptive and ruthless with her prey, and yet, she had convinced herself it was more rational to constantly flee to the room holding a captive Savior than it was to be cold in a room all by herself, a room she herself created that has everything she should want.

 

She’s dangling, almost willfully. _That’s why she can’t breathe._

 

With a grunt, the Queen flings the gloves from her hand and catches a bone-chilling sight. 

 

Her fingers, the ones Emma had held, are turning blue.

 

 

⋄

 

 

“What the _hell_?!”

 

“Jefferson, please stop screaming. I’ll explain.”

 

“You just came _through_ my door, Regina!” the Hatter rages, pacing anxiously through his cottage. “Through it, like a ghost! What the hell are you?”

 

“I’m under a spell,” Regina says, garnering the little patience she does have to make him understand and not run off on her. She can’t waste any more time chasing after him, in the dark no less. “It’s almost like your hat trick, this spell, but it’s old and has its consequences.”

 

“Good,” Jefferson responds eagerly, “you deserve some fallout.”

 

Regina ignores him. “Look, I need to ask you some questions. That’s all. You don’t have to go anywhere or do anything you don’t want to do.”

 

“Except help you,” Jefferson says. “What if I don’t want to do that?”

 

Regina sighs, genuinely crestfallen. “Then, I truly am sorry to have taken up your time. And you’re right, I don’t deserve your help. But Emma does. Emma deserves-” she breaks off on her sentence, knowing it’ll do little to sway a mind already made up.

 

Jefferson’s brow furrows the more he glares at her. “What’s… there’s something different about you. What is it?”

 

“I don’t believe that to be any of your business,” Regina answers evasively, “seeing as you refuse to help me.”

 

Jefferson scoffs, honestly not surprised. “Typical.”

 

He walks the length of the room, keeping his eyes on her, before circling a chair and sitting down in it.

 

“Fine,” he says, “ask your questions. I’ll answer if I can.”

 

Regina exhales in relief. “You will?”

 

“You’re right. You don’t deserve my help, but Emma’s never done anything to hurt me or my family. Not like you have. So, it’s Emma I’m helping here, not you.”

 

“Thank you,” Regina wanders closer, starting at the most prominent of clues. “There was a hat. Someone had a hat in Storybrooke, they used it to kidnap Emma. Did you happen to leave one behind when you relocated?”

 

“Sure, I did,” Jefferson says, a touch exasperated. “The mansion you put me in was equipped with thousands of hats. None of them worked. As you should well know, it’s you who kept me awake.”

 

“Of course.” Regina nodded as that which hasn’t been significant in such a long time suddenly comes forth. God, she really should have remembered all of this for herself. “You told me that a hat needed magic. Well, magic has been back in Storybrooke for a good while now,” she tells him, “so anyone who came across a hat, if they had magic, they could make a hat work, yes?”

 

“Arguably, yes,” Jefferson shrugged, “but also no. They’d have no control over the portal or to which portal they’d be manifesting, what they’d be bringing to life. One hat is always different from another. The other stories out there? They’re innumerable.”

 

“So, they could be anywhere?” Regina whispered, expression crumbling. “Meaning without that hat, we’d be helpless to follow.”

 

“Are you sure it was a hat?” Jefferson inquires.

 

Regina squints at him, perplexed. “Of course, it was! I saw it.”

 

“All due respect your Majesty,” he rasps, with a hint of irony, “but I’m seeing you too, and apparently you aren’t really here, so.”

 

Regina takes his point, turning to pace. She takes a glance at one of the windows and sees that the skies have turned darker. She’s running out of time.

 

“I have to get to my castle,” she mutters, turning back to face the Hatter. “What would it be, Jefferson? If not a hat? What?”

 

“I don’t know,” he admits. “It could be a hat. It’s possible.” He sits forward in contemplation. “This magic user, who was it?”

 

Regina purses her lips, hesitant to tell him. He appears to read her hesitance as well because he shakes his head and shrugs.

 

“Listen, you’ve asked your questions,” Jefferson stands, “My Grace will be home soon and I’d like for you not to be here when that happens.”

 

She’s being dismissed, she realizes.

 

“Alright,” Regina says, recovering quickly. Meeting and holding his gaze, she says, “Thank you, Jefferson.”

 

"I hope you find her." He opens the door for her this time and she walks out.

 

 

⋄

 

 

Making his way through the forest with a bag slung over his back full of the Dark One’s treasures, Will Scarlett feels pretty chuffed about himself. His glee is winning out over the fact that he’s nowhere near camp, even with the darkening of the forest. He has little to no supplies on him but he’s a scrapper and resilient to boot. He can make it up as he goes along.

 

So happy is he, that when he feels a cramp in his leg, he thinks nothing of it. With a trek from one side of the forest to the other, it’s expected.

 

Neither does he think much of the crick he gets on his neck. Carrying a bag full of stolen goods for hours? What could be more natural?

 

He finds his legs are feeling weighted down, it’s getting more difficult to push forward. He’s getting a tad slower. It’s been a tiresome day, he reasons. He should stop and rest some. It won’t take but a moment.

 

Will comes to a halt and scopes out the area first, as far as he can see, which isn’t much admittedly with the sun riding low in the skies. There’s a river flowing somewhere. It’s not far. He can hear it. Water will help surely.

 

He doesn’t feel it.

 

Not until it’s too late.

 

Not until his legs have gone to stone on him and his scream is swallowed up by the rest of him going stone, too.

 

The bag slung across his back drops to the dirt of the forest once the enchantment is fully enacted, the items stolen promptly disappearing back to where they belong in the Dark Castle, along with a new addition.

 

One, still a stone, Will Scarlett.

 

 

⋄

 

 

Regina had pondered over how on earth she was going to get to her castle from Jefferson’s cabin in such short notice, but she needn’t have worried. It turned out to be easier than she imagined. She simply closed her eyes, thought of her castle, and there she was. In her old bedroom, no less. She could honestly get used to the traveling powers of this spell. They're massively convenient.

 

Now, to find Graham.

 

Regina exited her bedroom chambers and took off down the corridor. If she knew her Huntsman, she knew where she’d find him. Right where he’d always be, where she'd imprisoned him to outlast. Guarding hearts that weren’t his own.

 

She thinks she’s ready for the sight of it, but she isn’t.

 

Graham had been the only Black Knight to prefer his helmet off, at least when he wasn’t in her vicinity. Regina knows this. As Queen she’d commanded him to wear it. Gained a perverse sense of pleasure in just how much she could push him, and he couldn’t do a thing to stop it. How much comfort she took in the art of possession. It breaks her heart to think on it now and she nearly loses the nerve to approach him altogether, but he has the mirror. He’s been waiting.

 

“Your majesty,” Graham greets without tone. He doesn’t even meet her eye.

 

“It’s Regina, Graham.” It comes out of her mouth before she can fully register how amends may be too far and too late in this space in time. His brows furrow but he doesn’t comment, doesn’t question, doesn’t stick one toe out of line. Graham sticks out his hand instead, the one with the mirror, offering it up to her. “I can’t,” she says, shaking her head and rephrases. “Would you hold it out for me, please. Like that, yes.” He appears undaunted with her asks. She’d never ask him for anything before, only demanded.

 

It’s a damned thing, to be forced to face a life you’ve destroyed. A wrong you can never fix. Regina tries to focus on the task at hand rather than the millions of apologies that he deserves, the ones that will never amount to anything because he is trapped here forever. She did that. She needs, no, screw that. He _deserves_ to have her own it, acknowledge it, this hell he’s looped to exist in. He deserves for her not to flinch in the face of him, of her doing. To hold accountability. It's necessary, she knows this now.  

 

“You may not care to hear it, or you may be past hearing it, but I am sorry, Graham,” she tells him, “for everything." The notion of too-late be damned. This horrid taste of guilt is on her tongue, to difficult to swallow or breathe with? She endures it. Regina looks down into the mirror that Graham holds.

 

“Show me Emma Swan,” she requests.

 

The mirror fogs over and Regina’s mouth falls open in shock. She recognizes this place! It’s currently devoid of people and movement, but she _knows_ it. She’s been there!

 

Her hand reaches up to grasp the mirror before she remembers that she can’t and-

 

 

⋄

 

 

Regina wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lesson of this chapter: Don't steal from the Dark One, kids.


End file.
